Generic Fanfic Author and the Magic Portal
by Amethyst2
Summary: ***CHAPTER SEVEN IS UP!!!***A computer freak who spends way too much time writing HP fanfiction suddenly finds herself on an adventure with characters she knows better than they know themselves.
1. The Intruiging Prolouge

Harry raised the Green Flame Torch to eye-level, and stared past its flickering emerald flames at Voldemort. The green of the torch nearly matched his shining green eyes, now narrowed in determination as he faced his lifetime nemesis.  
"You've killed my family. You killed my friends. And you tried to kill me. Now you're going to pay." And with that he raised the torch high above his head. "Potentia viridus ignis, purgo haec locus!" He repeated the words over and over again. Power of the green fire, purify this place.   
And with a flash of light brighter than the sun, and a yell of fury from the once all-powerful evil wizard, everything changed.  
Harry opened his eyes. "Hermione," he breathed. She was standing in front of him, looking bewildered.  
"Harry, what happened? I thought-"  
But he cut her off, sweeping her into his arms for a long awaited kiss. The torch fell to the floor, forgotten and no longer needed. Evil was vanquished. Forever. No more Voldemort, no more Death-Eaters or Dementors. And, as a sign of the torch's promise fulfilled, no more lightning-shaped scar.  
THE END.  
  
I finished typing, and squealed with delight. Finally, I had reached the end of my first fanfic! Amazing. I could barely stop from jumping up and down in ecstasy. Instead, I opted for saving, connecting to the internet, and posting this last chapter on fanfiction.net.  
"Finally!" I said breathlessly. Nothing more to do now than to wait for the reviews to come. A moment later…  
"You've got mail!" I double clicked on the mailbox, and a little window sprang out. Ff.net review alert. I opened it and read, "That was good."   
What a review! I mean, I've spent the last two months, an hour a day, writing this thing, banging out twelve chapters, and what does this person say? 'That was good.' Sheesh!  
I sighed, and decided that my time would be better spent searching for a fun website.   
Bring up Yahoo, type in Harry Potter, press Enter, scan the normal list of stupid and professional sites… Nothing. I've been to almost all of these. In fact, the only ones I haven't been to are the ones that either say "My Homepage! See pictures of me doing stuff! See me reading HARRY POTTER! See me -" and ones that say "XXX! Hentai… Harry Potter Pics! XXX" and stuff like that. Stupid moronic stuff. The rest… Well, it gets boring after a while. Reading the same rumors over and over. Playing the same games over and over. Fan fiction is great, but after a while there aren't that many new plots.   
And so I try again for a new website. Type in "Harry Potter Games" and press enter. Nope; I've been to all of these.  
And then, out of the blue, I typed in "Harry Potter Adventure."  
I pressed enter.  
And found exactly one match.  
"Magic Portal, The: Wanting to see a better website? Bored with all the others? Do you know everything about…. Harry Potter? Then please enter here."  
I shrugged to myself, and double-clicked the link.  
It was a black screen at first, then a starry background came through. The normal bits of white light, nebulas, black holes, etc. floating across the back of the screen, as rainbow letters appeared stating "The Magic Portal: Adventures of a lifetime."  
I noticed a very long list at the side of the screen, which listed a whole bunch of different books and TV shows. I saw Sailor Moon, Animorphs, Final Fantasy, and Gundam were some of the first ones. Then about halfway down the screen, I saw "Harry Potter." I double-clicked it.  
Same black screen, but in white letters there were questions. Oh, a quiz! I loved quizzes, but I got all of the answers right.  
However, this quiz was a bit different.  
"1. Which character has the most easily injured pride?"  
There was a space for me to type in a name under the question. I thought about it for a moment, then typed "Ron Weasley."  
"2. Which character suppresses his/her feelings the most?"  
What kind of questions were these? I knew the answer, Hermione, and typed it in, but still, this was a different sort of quiz.  
"3. Which adult at Hogwarts plays favorites the most?"  
I started to type "Severus Snape" but decided that the obvious answer may not be the correct answer. After several moments of thought, I typed in "Albus Dumbledore."  
The rest of the questions were like that. There were not only questions that needed a lot of thought and understanding of the characters personalities, but there were also questions about the different creatures around Hogwarts, and what basis they had in real mythology. I answered those easily; I love Greek mythology, and that's where most of it came from.  
"17. What city was named after Remus' brother?"  
Remus meant Professor Lupin, but in Roman mythology, two brothers, Remus and Romulus, were raised by wolves when they were children. Romulus ended up killing Remus when they fought over who the city of Rome would be named after. I typed in Rome.  
"25. What significance has the fact that Ron tried to turn Scabbers yellow?"  
An essay question. I remembered reading on some obscure website that Ron Weasley was probably named after a general called "Running Weasel," who was good at chess and was killed by a giant rat that his troops had turned yellow.   
There were a hundred questions in all. Usually, I would have quit long ago, but this quiz… For once, something was testing my knowledge. People make jokes about how I love to read. I don't read for the sake of the story, usually. I read so that I can KNOW the story. I want to learn it, be able to tell it to others if I have to, be able to spit it back at people, to know everything there is to know about it. I spend most of my time reading. Also, because I love to read so much, I slaughter people at Trivial Pursuit. It's almost embarrassing, because I can answer every question without hesitation. That might be why I have a limited number of friends.  
But this quiz was actually making me think. It wasn't one of those simply easy ones, (4. What color did Harry's portion of the Polyjuice Potion turn?) or the impossible hard ones, (56. What page of what book was the word Voldemort used for the twenty-first time?), but it made me think. I like things that make me think.  
But the last question was the hardest of all, even though it required a short answer.  
"100. Would you be happier if you were a character in a Harry Potter book than you are now?"  
I stared at the screen for a moment. Would I? Would I? Would I?  
I love fantasy, I've dreamed of having magical powers. Literally dreamed, by the way, as well as daydreamed. Would I like to have magical powers? Even if it meant living in a dangerous world like Harry's?  
Would I give up my family and what few friends I had for magic? Yes, of course. But…   
I'd never been a brave person. But for the first time in my life I felt a surge of courage rush through me. Why was I so excited over a stupid quiz? And yet, I felt daring, I felt brave, I felt fearless, as I typed, oh so carefully, "Yes."  
I hit the small gray button that read "Finished."  
And suddenly I wasn't there anymore.   



	2. In Which Harry and Co. Are Freaked Out

I didn't feel anything different. Just one minute I was taking a stupid quiz on the internet, and the next minute, I was standing somewhere cold and crowded.   
"I must've fallen asleep," I mumbled, then started as I realized that this was no dream. You can tell when it's a dream. At least I can. This was no dream.  
I tried to look around me. There were people milling around everywhere. It was cold out. I wildly looked up for a minute with the idea that I would check and make sure the sky was still blue. It was. And though the sun was shining brightly, it was cold. Not bitterly cold, just the cold feeling you get when it's been a long summer, and suddenly you just feel that summer is over and winter is just around the corner. There's a chill around you that doesn't come from the cool air. It comes from knowing that something good has just died, has left, and you can never get it back.  
I started to go up to someone and ask what year this was. After all, isn't that what time-travelers always do in books? And yet, I wasn't sure I'd traveled through time. But then I saw it.  
"Platform Nine, Platform Ten," I whispered. Yes, plastic numbers, just like in the books. I turned around completely, and saw that I had been standing next to a cart, on which suitcases… MY suitcases, ones that I knew were buried deep in the laundry room at home, were piled. And then…  
A noisy family of red-heads appeared. There were five kids, two guys who looked a whole lot older than me, one guy my age, and a girl younger than me, appeared, the three youngest dragging carts just like mine.  
I took in my breath. This was how most fanfics started, wasn't it? Some new character is at the station, and he or she sees Ron or Harry. That's how it always begins.  
I felt the sudden sinking feeling I always feel in emergencies. Luckily, whenever I get this feeling, my first reaction is to calm down. I never, ever panic. I never panic when the emergency first presents itself to me. However, if nothing I can do alleviates the problem, THEN I panic, and nothing can stop me.  
I walked through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 with no problem. After all, I'd been expecting this, hadn't I? I knew everything about the books.  
And yet, nothing prepared me for the sight of hundreds of kids in black robes, or semi-normal clothes, all loading luggage onto the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express, or the smell of soot and sweat burning in my nose, or the overwhelming sounds of conversation from everywhere I turned.  
"Ron!" I heard a voice call out. "Hey, over here!" I turned to see that Ron had walked through the barrier behind me. And as I slowly got it into my head that yes, this WAS the real Ron Weasley, my first thought was 'He looks nothing like the actor they've got playing him in the movie.'  
I was starting to feel sick. How was I going to get home? And yet, I HAD typed in that Yes, I would be happier here than in my own world, and yet…   
I climbed up a step to throw my luggage into a car, and felt something poke me in the hip. I reached down to rub my sore spot, and felt something sticking out of my pocket. I pulled out…  
It was about a foot long, maybe less. As thick as a pencil at one end, and about the size of a toothpick at the other, it was made of gleaming maple wood. I knew at once what it was, of course, but everything was so unbelievable that it took my brain a moment to connect with the rest of me.   
A wand.  
A MAGIC wand.  
MY magic wand.   
Whoosh! That was the sound of all desires to go home flying out the window, and not being missed.  
I could go along with this adventure for a little while.  
I stepped into the train, the third car from the back, and peeked into a compartment.  
"Sorry, we're full up," said a boy inside.  
All the other compartments in that car were full too.  
I was wondering if I'd ever find a place to sit, when the realization hit me. I felt like slapping my head. Of course! With all the fanfics I'd read, I should have remembered the one simple fact that was almost always the same through all of them.  
There was ALWAYS a seat in Harry's compartment.  
As I nearly skipped down to the last car, it suddenly hit me. I was going to see Harry Potter and Hermione and Ron. I would actually see them.  
Hermione I was looking forward to meeting. The books had never really described her well, and it would be nice to add some details to my mental picture of her.   
Ron I was also not worried about. After all, he seemed the most real to me.  
But Harry…  
I remember telling my sister, who also read the books, "I don't like Harry. He's a one-dimensional character. Everybody else has personality. He's brave. That's it, that's all we know about him. He just sorta goes with the flow. He doesn't have a personality. I don't like him." How could I meet, and interact with, a static character?  
Why was I even thinking like this? It was absurd; I was actually realistically thinking about meeting a character from a book! A series, I mentally reminded myself.   
I arrived at the last compartment, in the last car, and took a deep breath. This was it. I was going to be meeting Harry Potter.  
And then it hit me: Harry was a static character to everyone, interested readers and fanfic authors alike. But I was about to meet him.   
I could find out what he's really like, and then write the best fanfic ever! After all, I was actually going to take part in this little adventure. All I'd have to do was take notes, add in a transfer student to replace whatever part I had in the story, and then, voila! Perfect fanfic!  
I felt like slapping my head again. I was stuck in a book. A fiction book, filled with flying broomsticks and Fizzing Whizbees, and I was worrying about fanfiction.net. Of all the idiot…  
I opened the compartment door to cut off any more monologues in my head.  
"Hi, is there room in this compartment? All the others are full up," I quoted my character from another fanfic that I had never bothered to post.  
"Sure, c'mon in." Ron had such a sweet British accent. I love accents. They're just so amazingly cute! Ron was not amazingly cute, however, though he was pretty close. He did have red hair, but it was more coppery than carrot-top. His freckles were fading as he grew older, (I assumed they were all fifteen, because I did NOT want to be in the middle of "The Goblet of Fire") and he had clear blue eyes, wide set around a nose that was rather too large. I smiled at him as I sat down, and turned my gaze upon Hermione Granger.  
Hermione did have bushy brown hair. But it wasn't as bushy as… long. It was longer than mine, halfway down her back, and frizzy from her ears down. If somebody ran a straightening iron through it, it might reach her waist. She had a pug nose, set smack in the middle of a heart-shaped face, with large brown eyes and dark eyelashes. Her eyebrows were thick and bushy, and her smile was wide and very genuine.   
Then, with a bit of trepidation, I turned to look at Harry.  
He was watching me, and we studied each other.   
His hair was long, unlike Ron's which was very short. I love guys with long hair- when my best friend got his head shaved *sob* I wanted to be sick- and Harry's hair was certainly long. I was relieved to see he didn't have the retarded look that the cover of the fourth book gave him, but he did look a bit- er, a bit dorky. His big owl-eye glasses were NOT held together with tape, but were still wrong for his face. They nearly hid his startlingly wide green eyes. My eyes traveled up his face to look for the scar- there it was. It was just a jagged red line, nearly hidden by his bangs, which really didn't look like a lightning bolt unless you studied it really hard-  
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Harry asked me, his voice showing the annoyance he felt.  
"Er, I just wanted to see if you really looked like what most people think.."   
"So, I guess you already know who he is," Ron said sarcastically.  
I glared at him. I wasn't used to glaring at people, it just wasn't natural for me. But it seemed like what one of my characters would do. "I know who all of you are." Something in me wanted to impress them. I don't really impress my friends much. My best friend has done EVERYTHING. I can't do anything he hasn't done twice as well before, plus a lot of stuff I haven't done.  
"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed.  
"Ronald Weasley, age fifteen, you have six siblings, five brothers who are older than you, and your younger sister Ginny, who was possessed in your second year by Tom Riddle's diary. You're jealous of all of Harry's attention and you feel guilty because you're jealous." His mouth gaped open as I turned in my seat. "Hermione Granger. Your parents are Muggle dentists. You've spent time in France. You don't really like studying as much as you profess to but you're just terrified that you'll fail and your friends will dump you."  
Now her mouth was hanging open. I turned to Harry, but I just couldn't look him in the eye.  
"You are brave," was the first thing I could think of to say. "Um, you live with the Dursleys, you have an invisibility cloak that your dad left you, you had a crush on Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker, last year, and tried to ask her to the Yule Ball, but she was going with Cedric Diggory. You play Quiddich for Gryffindor-"  
"It's Gryffin-der, nor Gryffin-door," Ron said, trying to sound scornful, but he was too awed by my omniscience to pull it off.  
Harry was staring at me, his wide green eyes REALLY wide now. "How do you know all this stuff?"  
I started to laugh. After all, how do you explain to a living, breathing person that he's a character from a book?   
"You wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain," I said, getting control of myself. "Just know that I know every little thing that's happened to you ever since you started going to Hogwarts."  
They stared at me in stony silence for a few minutes. Then, Harry spoke again. "You seem to know us pretty well, but we don't know a thing about you."  
"Oh, I'm-" A dozen different names sprang to mind. Should I use my ff.net pen name, Amethyst? Should I give them the name of my character? Should I give them my real name? Why was I worried about whether they knew my name or not? "Diana Forrest," I said truthfully. "I guess you could say that I was a Muggle-born writer. Er, witch."  
I'd used the phrase Muggle-born writer in all of my author's notes. The train started to move, and the three of them eyed me warily, as I conveniently found a small pad of paper and a pencil in my pocket, and started to take notes on their appearances.  
"I think she's just plain looney." The sound of whispering brought my head up from my paper. Ron turned red as he realized I'd heard him.  
"Oh, that's quite all right," I assured him, "I think I'm looney too." It was a line from my parody. Geez, could I stop quoting myself? Was that even possible? I wrote it down.  
The compartment door banged open, and the four of us looked up.  
A dream stood there, a dream with short white-blond hair, dreamy silver eyes, delicate arched eyebrows, and two lumbering bodyguards. I stared at him for a long time before realizing that my mouth was hanging open.   
"So, Potter, picked up another Mudblood, have you?" He said in a tenor voice.  
That's when it struck me exactly who he was. I started to talk almost without meaning to. "Bis appallare, Bis terribilis, Draco Draco!" I quoted in a whisper.  
"Excuse me?" He stared down at me in comtempt.  
Cassandra Claire, your Draco stories are the best thing I've ever read, but you have never, ever done this boy justice in the looks department.  
"It's Latin," I explained weakly.  
He gave me an odd look. I stared beyond him at the two hulks of flesh which must have been Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle had bristly hair poking out of his head, deep set brown eyes, a largish nose and a chin which made me think of nothing more than a gorilla I had seen in the zoo. Crabbe had greasy black hair that wasn't as long as Harry's, and a wide head with two large ears sticking out from either side.  
I started scribbling in my notebook, while Malfoy, Ron and even Harry stared at me as if I was insane. I might have been.  
The train jerked to a stop, nearly sending Malfoy flying backwards. He grabbed onto the doorframe just in time, and with a last glance at me, stalked away.  
I grinned very widely. Hogwarts. I was going to go to Hogwarts.  
  



	3. In Which I Nearly Have A Nervous Breakdo...

I jumped out of the train, deciding to ignore the fact that Harry and Co. had snuck away behind me, and stared around me in wonder. This was Hogsmeade Station. This was another fictional place that I had actually been to. This place was not real! But I was standing here, breathing in the crisp cold air, and seeing people and things around me!   
An older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, who was wearing her gray-streaked red hair in a tight bun atop her head, was searching the crowds with her eyes. When her eyes rested on me, she smiled.   
"There you are! I'm so glad you arrived safely." She had a bit of an accent, Irish or Scottish or something, it was hard to tell. I took a wild guess.  
"Professor McGonagall?"   
"Oh, so Mr. Skellvale told you that I would be meeting the train? Good, good," she put a hand on my shoulder and guided me over to where a bunch of horse-drawn carriages were waiting for us. "Now, once we reach the school, it'll take a moment for all the other students to get settled. Then the first-years will be sorted, and after that, all the transfer students. When I call your name, just stand up and walk to the front. You'll be sitting at a table with the other American transfer students, and some of the ones from Beauxbatons." She pronounced it 'Boh-BAY-tuns.'   
I almost told her not to bother with the sorting; after all, I was going to be in Gryffindor, right? All main characters ended up in Gryffindor, everybody knew that. Unless, of course, they were meant to be evil, and then they were in Slytherin. Or it was one of those specialized fics where they want to glorify Hufflepuff or something. Or they weren't the main character.  
THAT thought scared me. What if suddenly all fanfic writers everywhere had been sucked into this world? What if we were to truly be sorted on account of our character? Where would I go?  
I started chewing my thumbnail, something I always do when I'm nervous. Actually, to tell the truth, I chew my nails all the time, whether I'm nervous, excited, or just bored. I have short nails. But I consciously decided to chew my nails right then, because I wanted to relieve the tension I was feeling.  
  
I was stuck in a black, uncomfortable carriage with hard wood seats with four other "transfer" students. One of them was French, the other three were American. Wanting to test my theory about authors getting sucked into this world, I asked, "Do any of you know what fanfic is?"  
They stared at me like I was crazy. One of them, the French girl some years younger than me with blonde pigtails, shook her head and shrugged, giving me a toothy grin.   
The rest of the ride was spent in silence. If I described it to you, you'd be snoring within a few sentences. But I will describe the castle to you.  
The first I could see of it was a single tower rising into the night sky like a gray wisp of smoke above the dark trees.   
Then, as we rounded a bend in the path, the entire castle was in view. It was huge and dark, like something from a scary movie. I counted seven towers, four at each corner of the castle, two in front on either side of where the gate was, and one in the middle of the back. They were made of gray stone, each block being less than a few feet wide, and their roofs had brown shingles. In the middle of each round roof was a spire, which rose several yards before tapering off into a pointy flagpole. Each of the flags on the four corner towers had a symbol with an animal, which I assumed were the flags of the four houses. The two in front and one in back all had a letter "H" on them, for Hogwarts.   
Ignoring everyone else in the carriage as effectively as they ignored me, I brought out my notepad and pencil again and scribbled furiously. I was going to remember every moment of this, even if it killed me.   
After all, everybody you read about goes on a magical adventure, right? Somehow something magical happens to them, and they go off on a several-hundred-page adventure, find true love, defeat evil, and live happily ever after. I'd read tons of stories like that. So I was well equipped for this adventure, not that it was truly happening to me, right?   
I remembered when I was younger I thought magical stuff could actually happen. I would do all these things to be prepared, just in case I was sucked into a portal, or transport to another planet where they desperately needed my help. I'd pack a bag full of food, water bottles, comic books and drawing paper, just in case I had time to pick it up. I remember begging my mom for fencing (swordfighting) lessons, because after all, what was a good magical adventure without a sword fight? However, after a few years of experience, more than one crying tantrum where all my fairy tale books would end up flying out the window, and several weeks of fencing (I ached in muscles I didn't even know I had!) I had given up all hopes and dreams of being taken on a magical adventure. I was too old for that kind of the dreaming.   
And yet, now I was on that kind of adventure. Would all my preparations, all my hopes and dreams, do me any good now that I was actually trapped in the adventure of a lifetime?   
  
I barely had time to look around as we were rushed through the halls and corridors and up several staircases; apparently, we were behind schedule. I'd hoped to catch a glimpse of some of the wonders that I knew to expect, such as the living suits of armor or the moving portraits. However, we were taken directly to the Great Hall. The other transfer students did not seem impressed by the beautiful sky apparently above us, but I was spellbound by the stars hanging only a few feet above my head. As I stared upwards, the dark silhouette of a owl flew by.   
The walls of the Great Hall were painted burgundy, and the floor was polished wood, which gleamed in the starlight raining down. The Hall was like a football field in size. The four House tables were huge, each one capable of seating at least 100 students. They were gleaming mahogany, and each one had a long silk tablecloth in what I assumed were the House colors. I spotted Harry and his friends at the table to the far left side of the Hall, which sported a scarlet cloth. The dream I had seen earlier was at a green-clothed table to the far right side of the Hall. The tables in the middlel had yellow and navy blue cloths.   
But I was not studying the décor as much as the students. There were probably 70 or 80 at each table. The Gryffindors where a strong looking bunch, and were laughing and joking with each other as they waited for the feast to start. At the navy blue table, which I assumed was Ravenclaw, most of the students were reading. A few of them conversed quietly, and several were staring at the teachers raised table at the front of the Hall, beside which was the transfer student table with a white tablecloth. The Hufflepuff table was surely the friendliest. They were laughing and giggling merrily. Rosy cheeks and deep dimples were in abundance there. The Slytherins were sulking. Several of them made nasty faces in the general direction of the Gryffindors, including the dream- er, Malfoy.   
I tried pound it into my head; Malfoy was not dreamy. Just because he was handsome did not mean that he wasn't evil. He was wicked, evil, and nasty. Just the kind of person I hated. And yet… Looks can be very deceiving.  
The Sorting Hat was finally brought out by Prof. McGonagall, and placed on the stool in front of the teachers' table. I stared eagerly at it; would it really talk and sing like in the books? It was very ratty, but it reminded me of nothing more than the hat that Sorcerer Mickey wears in Fantasia. It was scarlet just like the Gryffindor's tablecloth, but it did have tiny stars and moons from its bent tip to its thin brim. And suddenly, just as in the first book, the rip near the brim widened, and it began to sing.   
I was startled, to say the least. Here at last was proof positive that this was no dream, no joke, no elaborate hoax. This was real magic.   
  
"In this school there are houses four,  
Which will be standing evermore,  
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,   
Slytherin and Gryffindor.  
All four houses are as famed,  
As they are so rightly named.  
Because they were built up from scratch,  
In a wild wilderness tamed  
By four great founders, long ago,  
And each of the four soon did know,  
That they each liked a different student,   
And so to divide their houses did go.  
So, which house will suit you well?  
I'm the one who'll surely tell,  
For I can see into your heart,  
And know where you should dwell.  
The Hufflepuff's are gentle and kind,  
The Ravenclaws are bright of mind,  
The Gryffindors (here a roar came from said table) are brave and strong,  
And Slytherins are cunning, you'll find,  
So step right up to try me on,  
I know where you should be.  
'Cause I can see into your mind,  
And place you rightfully."   
  
  
The tune and was a bouncy and light melody, which set my feet tapping. I was also scribbling furiously to try and remember the song, because I knew that it would be difficult to make one up later when I did write the story down.  
A crowd of first-years gathered around behind the teachers' table, looking as scared and nerve-wracked as it was possible to be. I began mentally picking out which ones I thought would go into which houses. The boy with the horn rimmed glasses carrying a tote bag full of books would be a Ravenclaw, and the plump smiling girl who was clutching her friends arm would definitely be a Hufflepuff. The boy with sandy-blond hair staring with a confident smile at the hat would be a new Gryffindor. But the two boys in the corner snickering to each other behind their hands would be Slytherins, no doubt.   
As the names were called, the plump girl did get into Hufflepuff, as well as, surprisingly, the boy with the books. But I got the rest of them correct; the confident boy was a new Gryffindor, and the snickering fellows were Slytherins. The new Gryffindor was Gerald Rachette, and he gave a high-five to several of the other Gryffindors before he sat down.   
Finally, Dumbledore, who was exactly as I had pictured him, an older man with thin, wise face and mad-scientist hair, got up and said something about transfer students being sorted. I didn't recorded exactly what he said because I was too nervous. What if I didn't get into Gryffindor? What if I ended up in Slytherin? I could never write about that, never! All fanfic authors assume that anyone in Slytherin is bad news. If I ended up there who want to read my story? They would assume that I was evil!  
"Barker, Matthew." McGonagall said loudly. One of the boys next to me stood and walked over to the hat. He jammed it on, and a few moments later…  
"Ravenclaw!" The table let up a restrained cheer.  
"Cleau, Jeannette." The girl with the pigtails who had smiled at me in the carriage stood and nearly skipped over to the stool.  
Hufflepuff, obviously, is what I was thinking before the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" There was a loud cheer.  
Suddenly, I heard my name called. Heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it, I stood up.  
My god, what was I doing? I hated being in front of people! I was wearing long black robes, about to try on a singing hat, in front of hundreds of people! My last thought before the brim of the hat descended around me was, 'What do you think you're doing? How are you going to get into Gryffindor if you have stage fright?'  
I heard a voice, whispering in my ear, and thought for a moment that Prof. McGonagall had leaned over to tell me that I wasn't going to be sorted after all. But then I realized it was the hat, speaking to me.  
"Well well," it said, "you're a nervous one! But don't worry, I don't judge people on what they feel. I judge what is in your heart. You're very brave to face this world on your own. I'm sure you'll find the story and the adventure you're looking for in GRYFFINDOR!" I heard the hat yell that last part. My ears ringing, I removed the hat, and stared down at the Gryffindor table. I had done it. I had accomplished what most people only accomplished through their keyboards. I had made it into Gryffindor.  
But then with her ever any doubt?  



	4. Urgh...

Ron and Hermione were occupying the chairs to either side of Harry, so I slid into a seat across from them, gave a small sigh, and leaned onto the table, head in my hands. I must have looked relieved, because Hermione commented, "So, you were nervous about not getting into Gryffindor?"  
  
I merely nodded, and closed my eyes.  
  
A pleasant aroma made me open my eyes and looked down at my once empty plate. I should have been surprised to see the plates of food, but I was still recovering from the nervousness from getting sorted, and so my senses of perception were not what they should have been. My brain just numbly accepted the fact that there was food in front of me and I mechanically started to eat, not even noticing what was served.  
  
I was too nervous. I had gotten into Gryffindor, and that was all that mattered.   
  
I looked up and saw Harry watching me eat. I looked him in the eye, and thus we stayed for several moments, staring at each other like there wasn't anything else to look at in the entire world.  
  
I had never known that it was possible to have a whole conversation without saying a single word.  
  
His eyes told me, 'Welcome to Gryffindor.'  
  
My eyes said, 'Thanks. Sorry about how I was acting earlier.'  
  
His smile said, 'You may be a strange person, but don't worry about it.'  
  
And then he turned to Ron to start discussing Quidditch. I continued eating, as Dumbledore made the usual announcements about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden, and the new items added to Filch's list of illegal objects.   
  
I suddenly noticed a strange badge that Hermione was wearing. "Are you a prefect?" I asked, pointing to the badge.   
  
"Why, yes!" she said happily.  
  
I wrote it in my notebook. Hermione's grin turned into an oddly strained smile. "Oh," I said a bit too late, "congratulations."  
  
She looked away.  
  
  
All I had time to notice of the Gryffindor Common Room that night was that it was big. And it took a long, long time to walk across it to get to the impossibly high staircase that led up to the girl's dorm. The dorms were separated into years, with about ten beds in each dorm. I found an unclaimed bed in the fifth year dorm, and dropped into it, completely exhausted.   
  
My dreams that night were sort of strange… I was in the queerest situation I'd ever been in, so my dreams were not quite up to par on the scale of weirdness. Anyway, I couldn't remember what exactly they had been about when I woke up, but I seemed to remember something about a fruitstand and that stupid Chihuahua from the Taco Bell commercials.   
  
The window in the dorm let in plenty of light, and I could see the other girls already getting dressed.  
  
Hermione was already halfway out the door when I called her back. "Hey," I called, "what time is it?"  
  
"Almost eight," she replied. "You had better hurry, or you'll be late for class."  
  
I knew classes started at 9; it had said so in the third book. Which meant I only had an hour to get ready.  
  
My first class was in an hour and I still hadn't done any magic whatsoever. I wasn't even sure if I could DO magic. I mean, just because I had a magic wand didn't mean I was automatically a witch, right? And yet…  
  
I pulled out my wand from my pile of stuff next to the bed, and, looking to make sure no one was watching me, I held it in front of me stiffly. Wracking my brains, I finally remembered a good spell. "Orchideous," I said softly. Nothing happened. I repeated the word, this time waving my arms of a bit as I did. Still, nothing happened at all. What was I doing wrong?  
  
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly, I felt a strange warmth spreading from my chest all throughout my body. I felt it travel through my fingertips to the tip of the wand. Suddenly, I knew what to do.  
  
"Orchideous!" I flicked the end of my wand, letting the warmth spill out of it. Where the warmth spilled, (how I could tell where it went I don't know) bright purple flowers appeared. Finally I had a bright bouquet sticking from the end of my wand. I waved the wand again, and the flowers disappeared. I wanted to jump for joy! I. Had. Just. Done. Magic. Real magic. The warmth had not disappeared; I could still feel it tingling throughout my body, ready to be channeled into a spell.  
  
I gave the other girls still in the dorm a real confident grin. Class would be no trouble at all.   
  
  
I felt confident enough to snap at Snape, to make faces at McGonagall, to laugh out loud at Professor Binns. I could do magic; I could do anything.  
  
Perhaps I was a bit too confident. After all, as luck would have it, first class was Potions.  
Now, even I realized that this was a bit too cliché'd for reality. I mean, when you get a new character in a fanfic, the first thing you want to do is make sure they aren't a Mary Sue, and the best way to do that is to pit them against Snape.   
  
But it was real. Hoo boy, Potions.  
  
I started scribbling in my book all the things I remembered about Potions.  
  
Infusion of Wormwood and powdered Asphodel make the Draught of Living Death, or something like that.  
A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat that will cure most poisons.  
Wolfsbane and monkshood are the same plant. What WAS the third name for it?!  
  
What was it again that you weren't supposed to add to the cauldron until you took it off the fire? It's what happened to Neville in the first year… Darn it! I couldn't remember!  
I cursed the times when I'd skipped over that part in the book because it was boring. Who knew that I'd need that knowledge one day? Well, in hindsight, I probably would already scare people with how much I remembered.   
  
I suddenly noticed that I was alone in the hall, whereas before there had been students rushing all around me. What time was it anyway?  
  
Oops. I was late.   
  
And I didn't have anyone to follow to Potions.   
  
I was in trouble.  
  
So I did the only reasonable thing to do in this sort of situation; I started crying.  
  
I slumped against the wall, hugged my knees, and kept chanting mentally, "I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to be here."  
  
At least, I though I was chanting mentally, until a calm voice asked me, "Then where are you supposed to be?"  
  
For just a moment, I had a flash from a fanfic I'd once read. I'd look up, and see Harry Potter standing there, ready to rescue me from distress, lead me to class, defend me from Snape, and then…  
  
But when I looked up, it was to see the bloodshot and crazed eyes of a tiny man.  
  
"YEEAURGH!" I shot straight up, scattering my books and things everywhere. The little man zoomed into the air, laughing. I got control of myself, after several hysterical moments, and saw that the little man was wearing what I would have expected to see on one of Santa's elves, minus the pointed hat. He was bald, but had great tufts of hair sticking from both sides of his head, and he was laughing and zooming so fast I could barely see any more of him.  
  
"Transfer student's late for class, sneaking around the hallways!" he cackled.  
  
He leaned forward, and blew a raspberry at me, the force up which sent him shooting backwards around the corner and out of sight.   
  
I sighed in relief. Could that have been Peeves? Of course, that was the only explanation. I bent down to gather my scattered books.  
  
"Hey, are you alright?" The voice which questioned me was familiar. I looked up, to see Harry's concerned face peering down at me.  
  
"Aren't you late for class?" I asked him, standing up in trying to adjust my load so that I wouldn't drop my books again.  
  
"No later than you are," he remarked, giving me a shy smile. "I figured you'd have trouble finding the classroom, since it's your first day, and all."  
  
"Thanks," I said. Gee, yet another fanfic cliché. Harry to the rescue!   
  
Then again, maybe cliché's are there for a reason. People know that noble, brave, chivalrous Harry would be the one to remember that the new Gryffindor has no clue where classes are, and would follow her through the halls to make sure she was OK. Maybe the reason people use that idea so much is because…because it's what would really happen. What was really happening.  
  
"So," he said conversationally as we walked quickly through the halls. I trailed just a half-step behind him; close enough to be walking with him, yet far away enough that he could still be leading. "How do you know all that stuff about us? That you were talking about on the train?"  
  
I laughed; not my normal laughter, but the barking half-laugh I give when I'm feeling moody and want to be sarcastic. "You wouldn't believe me."  
  
"Try me." He stopped walking to turn around and look at me.  
  
I stared at him for a moment: why did he care so much? After all, it wasn't his job to be curious, insightful, kind, and serious. It was his job to be brave and strong. Just like in the books. After all, he was only a two-dimensional character, right?  
  
I shook my head. "Why do you care anyway?" It sounded colder than I wanted it to. Why was I acting like this? Was it just because I was annoyed that Harry was actually a real person? I remember I once wrote a letter to an advice column in a magazine. Somebody called me back on the phone. I hung up on them. I didn't want to have a conversation with them. I just wanted an impersonal yet life-changing piece of advice.  
  
Somehow that reminded me of now. I didn't want Harry to be a person, I wanted him to be a character that I could manipulate and write about. I wanted him to be flat and unreal, and, of course, brave and strong. Not- not a real person.  
  
I couldn't look him in the eye. "I don't want to tell you where I'm from, or how I know about you guys. You probably wouldn't believe me, and if you did believe me, you wouldn't like it."  
  
"Fine." With that one word, he spun around and grabbed at a doorknob. "Potions dungeon is right down these stairs."  
  
Of course, he held the door open for me. I knew he would. After all, that's something he'd do.  
  
The first thing I noticed as we went down the stairs was the change in atmosphere. It was cold and slimy. The stone steps were nothing like the marble staircases in the upper parts of the castle. The stone walls were covered in moss. I could barely believe how spooky and unreal it felt. The stairs were very slippery and wet, I was just thinking, when I felt my feet go out from under me.  
  
I yelped, threw my arms out, and Harry caught my shoulders just before I slid down any further.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Y-yeah, just a bit shaken," I replied, embarrassed. What a klutz I was. I picked up my books for, what was it, the second time? Third? After a moment, I asked, "Just how late are we?"  
  
"Only a few minutes." He grimaced. "But with Snape, even a few minutes is way too late."  
  
We followed a long hallway, until finally we reached the Potions' classroom. It really wasn't a room any more than a wider part of the hall blocked off by a door. Same slippery stone floors and mossy stone walls. There were tables, maybe a dozen, and to the right of each one was a small fire with a metal rack above it, on which were hanging two small cauldrons. The room smelt of rotting fish and burning coals. The teacher's desk was a standard one, and hanging behind it on a wall was a set of shelves, full of glass bottles with strange colored liquids inside. Also behind the desk was a man I could only assume was Severus Snape.  
  
His hair, black and greasy, fell below his ears, almost to his chin. It was the same kind of haircut I'd sported a few years ago; however, there was nothing effeminate about this man. His nose wasn't large so much as long, and pointy; it might have been called beaky. He had thin eyebrows, and a mouth which seemed to tilt into a scowl naturally. Of course, that might have just been because he was eyeing Harry and me as we nervously tried to find a place to stand. There were no chairs in the classroom.  
  
Harry quickly moved next to Ron, who had been saving a space for him. The only open spot for me was with a boy I didn't recognize. I felt like swearing, but instead just quietly walked over to the empty spot and set my books, carefully, on the table.  
  
Snape smiled grimly at Harry, who eyed him back. "Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. Don't be late again." Then he eyed me, and I wanted to shrink back from his gaze.  
  
I can't stand it when adults are mad at me, especially strange adults. Just having him look at me like that made me want to burst into tears. I blinked once, then turned my eyes down to the table.  
  
"And five points from Gryffindor for you, too, Miss-"  
  
"Forrest." I volunteered.  
  
"And another point for interrupting a teacher." He shook his head at me like I was the stupidest monkey in the zoo.   
  
His hair didn't move when his head did, it was too greasy, and seemed to be stuck to the side of his head.  
  
He reached behind him to shelf and brought down a rather large bottle full of brownish green liquid. "To start off this year, I will be teaching you how to make an invisibility potion. But before we start, I must warn you: any student found misusing this potion will be expelled immediately." He purposefully stared at Harry once more. "But I would enjoy seeing one of you risk it."  
  
Gulp. Gee, that sounded encouraging. I listened carefully as Snape listed the ingredients we would need. There was a drawer underneath the table from which my partner pulled out to different ingredients listed. Among them were powdered rat spine, pickled mulberries, and black widow fangs. I gagged as he pulled out a wriggling grub of some kind and laid it on the cutting board.   
  
Each retrieving our own cauldrons from above the fire, we began to carefully mix the ingredients. I was very disgusted at some of the stuff we put in there. But after a few moments, Snape finally told us that we could put our cauldrons back over the fire to simmer for a while, but to make sure they did not boil. While we watched, and I can assure you no pot was ever watched as carefully as mine, he lectured us on how to use the potion, i.e. dosages, side effects, and what to do if something goes horribly wrong.   
  
I happened to glance over at Hermione, who was standing beside a rather plump boy I could only assume was Neville Longbottom. I think the whole class heard him whisper, "I think mine is starting to boil."  
  
"Then take it off of the fire," Hermione hissed.  
  
Somehow I knew that something was about to go wrong. I was right: As Neville went to grab his cauldron, he accidentally spilled the entire contents into the fire.  
  
There was a tremendous whoosh, and a mushroom cloud of gray smoke that filled the room.  
  
"Everyone out now!" I heard Snape's voice hole through the smoke and confusion.  
  
Everyone in the room headed for the door and I was carried along with them; not that I didn't want to get out too, but I had no idea where the door was.  
  
Once we were all out in the hall once more, I saw what had happened to Neville and poor Hermione. Where the potion had splashed up, Neville was completely invisible. It was really quite funny to see him with blotches and patches missing.   
  
His whole left cheek was gone, as well as part of his hair and most of his stomach. Hermione, though, was much worse. Somehow, she had gotten drenched; her entire head was invisible except for part of her hair below her shoulders, and there were still bits of the potion tracing invisible streaks down her robes.  
  
Snape's eyes flashed dangerously as he stared at Neville, who looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground. Neville nervously backed up against the wall, and Snape took a step forward, hands clenched into fists.  
  
"I think they'd better get up to the hospital ward," Ron Weasley interjected quickly, grabbing Neville and Hermione's arms, and trying to lead them away before Snape's wrath could explode.  
  
It was a futile effort. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he nearly quivered with rage.   
  
"Did I not warn you not to overheat the potion?" He grabbed Ron and Neville's arms. "Detention. Detention for all three of you." He let go of their arms. "Now, up to the hospital wing both of you." Snape turned around and walked back into the classroom, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
  
I heard Ron swearing under his breath, and he grabbed Hermione's arm again. Harry took one of Neville's arms, and I took the other, wanting to help. Plus, I had a feeling it would be an advantage to know where the hospital wing was.   
  
Ron was swearing under his breath with every step; I had to hide my smile. I had never heard a bunch of his descriptions of Snape's heritage and species, and it was funny to hear them being said in a cute British accent.   
  
Neville was crying, and his tears would dribble down his invisible left cheek, leaving slight traces behind; the whole effect was very strange. I think Hermione may have been crying too, but it was hard to tell.  
  
"D'you suppose Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix them?" Ron asked Harry in an undertone. He must not have been quiet enough, for Neville's sobs became much louder at the question.  
  
"Of course she'll be able to fix this!" Hermione's voice snapped. "What a question. Weren't you listening to anything Snape said?"  
  
"No," the three of us chorused as one. Ron eyed me suspiciously. "What've you got against Snape?"  
  
I shrugged. "He's a biased, selfish, grudge-holding git." I knew the word sounded funny coming from me, but I couldn't think of anything better. I had never liked to swear, although Ron was obviously of a different opinion.  
  
Ron grinned. He looked absolutely adorable when he grinned like that. It was easy to imagine him as a six or seven-year-old who had lost his front teeth.   
  
We finally got Neville and Hermione up to the hospital wing, which looked like a normal school nurse's office, except that it had an extra room where there were beds, just like in a normal hospital. It even smelled of antiseptic and starch.  
  
I waited outside in the hall for the boys while they talked to Hermione. Then, when they came out, I asked them, "Do you mind if I follow you to the next class? I still don't know my way around."  
  
"Thought you knew everything about Hogwarts," Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"I don't know my way around." I knew it was childish, but I made a face at him; it felt good. "I wish you'd stop bringing that up."  
  
"Listen to her!" Ron turned to Harry. "Stop bringing it up! Stop bringing up the fact that she knows everything about us? That little, insignificant detail that she knows who our families are, and how we feel about things?" He threw up his arms, and stormed away. "Find your own way to class, I say."   
  
I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry. But I can't stand it when people are angry at me, and especially for things that aren't my fault. I closed my eyes, and leaned back against the wall, my hands in fists.  
  
My parents never let me clench my fists when I was angry. They'd punish me if I did, because they said it made them feel like I was about to attack them. I'd finally gotten out of the habit, or so I thought.  
  
When I finally was able to swallow the lump that had been forming in my throat, and open my eyes, Harry was still there.  
  
My face must have shown my surprise, because he laughed. "Ron doesn't like-"  
  
"Things that he doesn't understand," I interrupted. "I know. But it doesn't make it any easier."  
  
He watched me for a moment, while I stared at the floor. Finally, he said, "The next class is History of Magic, you just go follow this hallway and go down the stairs to your left, turn right, and it's the first door." He took off running in the direction that Ron had went, leaving me alone with my thoughts.  
  
  
  



	5. Magicality

  
Harry and Ron sat together during History of Magic class, and I was stuck sitting next to a very outgoing Seamus Finnigan. He was the kind of guy I might have liked- if I had been at home, living a normal life. His cheerful outgoing-ness wasn't comforting in my present situation, though it did help to lighten my mood when he started composing different epitaphs for Professor Binns' tombstone. It probably wouldn't have been very funny with a living teacher; however, when your teacher is a ghost…  
  
That was something new, I remembered. I hadn't seen a ghost yet in all my travels at Hogwarts. They looked surprisingly- well, normal. Binns was a plump old man…or he HAD been, once. He wasn't completely transparent, but he did look a bit misty. His color was off too; he was sort of a milky gray, with drops of color mixed in here and there.  
  
I have to admit, though, once the novelty of staring at Binns wore off, the class became as dead as its teacher. At first I tried taking notes, but that urge wore off very quickly.  
  
Finally, his endless droning stopped. I looked up, feeling drowsy. Everyone was standing up and leaving. I quickly jostled a sleeping Seamus awake, and he sat up with a jerk.   
  
"Oh, class is over," he said stupidly, then tried to fall back asleep. I sighed, shook him once more, then got up and looked at the clock behind me. Not that it could tell me anything, because it had twelve hands, all moving, and no numbers, but it was a normal activity for a student leaving class. Any bit of normalcy was comforting.  
  
Lunch reminded me a lot of the school cafeteria, without those ladies in aprons and hairnets calling you "hon" and plopping strange smelling blobs on your plate. On second thought, it wasn't anything like a school cafeteria.   
  
I ate quickly, though heaven knows why; we had another hour until classes started up again. After getting lost several times, I was finally directed back to the common room by a suit of armor.   
  
Not surprisingly, Ron and Harry were there, crouching beside a deck of cards. They seemed to be just starting a game.  
  
"Whatcha playing?" I asked, sitting down almost beside them.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes at me, but Harry, ever the nice guy, responded, "Exploding Snap."  
  
I grinned; this was the one game I'd been waiting to see. "Oh, neat! Can I watch?"  
  
They both shrugged, then turned back to the game. They each had half a deck, face down, in front of them. They took turns flipping cards up and putting them on the pile. Finally, Ron slapped his hand down, saying, "Snap!"  
  
BOOM! A burst of smoke came up from the pile with a horrendous noise. The smoke dissipated quickly. Ron was shaking his head in disgust, muttering, "I coulda sworn I saw a match!" I was a bit disappointed to see that nothing had really exploded. All the cards were still there, and Ron's hand seemed to be fine. Oh well.  
  
The other thing I was looking forward to was wizard chess. I didn't get to play chess very often; in fact, it had probably been a year since I'd last played. But I had been pretty good. Well, I had been OK. Sorta. I mean, I won some of the time. When I played this friend of mine. Actually, when I started teaching him how to play. Um, a couple years ago. When he was seven, and I was like eleven.   
  
Fine, so I would stink at chess. But it still would be neat, to play with real pieces.  
  
Harry and Ron had finished two games of Snap, and showed no sign of stopping, so I curled up on one of the big couches that was scattered about the room and reviewed my hurried notes from the last two days, adding in any extra details I remembered. ): It helped clear my mind and put things in perspective.   
  
The next class coming up was Transfiguration. Remembering how first year students at Hogwarts had trouble turning matches into needles, I was a bit nervous.   
  
I needn't have worried. Apparently, whatever person or force sent me here also equipped me for the job. I remembered how I found magical textbooks had appeared, well, magically, in my suitcases. I supposed whatever had brought me here was going to make sure I did all right in class, because I handled it just fine.  
  
The assignment was to change a rock into a mouse. We had to read for a while on how to change something inanimate into something alive. That part was weird; there were WAY too many pictures in the books of what happened when whatever you created wasn't alive when you transformed it. It was disgusting.   
  
And yet, it was fun. I pointed my wand at it and said the spells necessary to transform it. There were several different spells: a life-giving spell, a fur-growing spell, a spell to grow normal body parts and a spell to give it different features. I found that I could somehow control things about it, from how long its whiskers were to what color it was, by controlling the magic that spilled out from my wand. It was… breathtaking. Amazing. Wow. I don't really have words to describe how absolutely cool it was to change a dead rock into a scurrying brown mouse.  
  
I poked my wand at the mouse, which was sitting on my desk nibbling some carrot McGonagall had given all the students. The mouse turned bright green. I poked it again, and it turned blood red. I continued experimenting until McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, and looked down her nose at me disapprovingly.   
  
I almost started crying when McGonagall insisted we turn the mice back into rocks. I had become quite found of mine. Several of the other Gryffindor girls felt the same way but the teacher didn't relent, so back they went. I obviously didn't have complete control over my magic yet, as my rock still had ears when I was finished. I just couldn't get them to go away, even though I did manage to turn them the same dirty gray as the rest of the stone.  
  
Amazing. Wow. Breathtaking. Fantastic. Astounding.   
Magic.  
  
I don't care what famous poets say. Nothing; not a sunset, not a winter ocean, not a first kiss, not a moonlit night, not anything; is magical. Magic is magical. Watching things that you thought impossible happen before your eyes: that is magic. Knowing that you caused those things to happen: that is magical.   
  
  
I found out the next day that my schedule was not exactly like Harry's. While he was climbing the stairs to Divination Tower, I was taking Muggle Studies. Of all subjects, you know? That day we had it double with the Ravenclaws.   
  
The professor of that class was Ishmael Ibbonar. He always wore some kind of hat, whether a baseball cap or a helmet, and a trench coat. When he spoke, it was obvious that English was his second language. He sounded German to me. Despite the strange impression all this left on us students, I started to like him a lot. He started out the first class with an attempt at a joke.  
  
"How many Muggles takes it to screw in a lightbulb?" he asked us, smiling under his bushy mustache.  
  
One of the Ravenclaws raised his hand.   
  
"Yes, Herr Boot," Ibbonar acknowledged him.  
  
"What's a lightbulb?"  
  
I laughed outloud, along with several of the other Muggle-born students in with us, but most of the others thought it a legitimate question.   
Ibbonar sighed. "We have much work to do. Please to be opening your textbooks to page 14."  
  
  
The days flew by.  
  
Literally, sometimes, because Ron and Hermione were fighting, and sometimes any object within reach was turned into a projectile. Somebody's soccer calendar seemed to be the weapon of choice, because the owner kept replacing it over and over again in the same spot. However, neither contender hesitated to use lamps, sofa cushions, books, small paintings, ceramic knick-knacks and other objects d'art as well.   
  
What they were fighting about was a bit ambiguous to everyone around them. I think it all started out about a week after we had arrived at Hogwarts…  
  
"As most of our teams graduated last year," Dumbledore announced over dinner, "Quidditch tryouts will be held this Saturday. Ten o'clock for Gryffindor, noon for Slytherin, two o'clock for Ravenclaw, and four o'clock for Hufflepuff, on the Quidditch pitch. Good luck to all who try out."  
  
With that announcement, the entire Great Hall was sent into a roar of mutterings and musings, and other excited yet hushed forms of conversation. Everyone at the Gryffindor table was grinning as if they all knew exactly who would be the newest star player for their team. Even I was finding myself considering trying out. But then again, I had never even seen anyone fly yet, much less ride a broomstick myself.  
  
My unexpected visions of riding around the moon while wearing a pointed hat and long black robes on Halloween were interrupted by a gasp of laughter from Hermione, who was sitting beside me. Hermione and Ron had learned to tolerate me, but we still weren't friends. Harry and I weren't exactly hitting it off either, but at least he was nice to me when he had to be.  
  
"You?" Hermione gasped, staring at Ron with a look of disbelief on her face. She was laughing so hard she nearly choked. "You, try out for the team?"  
  
Ron's ears were red. "I mean, since Fred, George and Charlie were all on the team, I kinda thought…" He suddenly got angry. "And why not? Why shouldn't I try out?"  
  
And that's what they were fighting about. At least, that's where it began. However, several hours later when they were still fighting, and the "Soccer Days" flew by for the seventh time that evening, it was clear that that was NOT where it was going to end.  
  
"Yeah? Well, if you would just get your nose outta a book for once you'd see that I'm in great physical condition!"   
  
"So what if I read all the time? At least I know more about Quidditch than you do, Mr. I'm-gonna-be-an-All-Star-Quidditch-player!"   
  
"What do you know that I don't know?"  
  
"Everything!"  
  
And that's where Harry brought it all to an abrupt stop.  
  
"All right then," he said sensibly, ducking under a flying piece of furniture that was a bit off-course, luckily for Ron. "If you both know so much about Quidditch, how about you both try out? And whoever makes the team was right."  
  
Hermione bit her lip, but Ron's eyes were gleaming. "Sounds fair to me."  
  
"Fine!" Hermione snapped. "But don't come crying to me when you don't make the team and I'm flying high above you!"   
  
They both proceeded to storm up to their dorms, each filled with righteous indignation. Harry sighed as he watched them go, then turned to look at me. I quickly buried my nose in the book I had been pretending to read.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
I blinked, and looked up at him. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Are you trying out for the team?"  
  
"Nah. But I'm gonna watch, though."  
  
He smiled at that. "You like watching Quidditch?"  
  
Ha ha. He didn't realize what a tough question that was to answer. I'd read about his matches in detail through both the original books and fanfiction, but I'd never actually seen a match. I enjoyed the accounts of his games, but I hadn't seen one. Not really.  
  
"I've always wanted to see Gryffindor play in person," I said, finally coming up with an answer. "That'd be better than watching any other team in the world."  
  
He was properly humble as he replied, "Well, the best players have all graduated."  
  
What I would've given to be forward enough to say, "I think the best player is one of the ones who didn't graduate." But I've never been like that. I've never been flirty, if that's what you'd call it. So I just said, "If tryouts go well, then you'll probably have a good team. Who decides what players go on the team?"  
  
"Madame Hooch, believe it or not. She's the flying teach-" He looked at me carefully. "But then, you knew that already, didn't you?" I started to answer, when he changed the subject. "Didja see the World Cup?"  
  
Another question which required a non-answer. "Bulgaria versus Ireland? Man, Krum was excellent in that match. Too bad they didn't win, wasn't it?"  
  
"You were rooting for Bulgaria?"  
  
"No, but-" I suddenly realized what he was doing. The sneaky jerk was trying to find out where I'd come from! By asking me about Quidditch, he was trying to determine whether I came from a Muggle family. And asking which team I was rooting for- Ooh, I hate it when people try and trick me. So I changed the subject.  
  
Somehow I suspected that this conversation was a game, a match, a trial of some sort. Harry had already scored a couple points, but now the ball was in my court.  
  
"You think Hermione or Ron will make the team?"  
  
"Both of 'em will is what I'm thinking," he replied.  
  
"Kind of conniving, the way you got them to both try out."  
  
He was at a loss for words at that statement.   
  
SCORE  
HARRY: 2  
DIANA: 1  
  
Recovering quickly, he said, "What's your favorite American Quidditch team?"  
  
Uh-oh. "Umm, there wasn't one in my area."  
  
"Oh? Where was that?"  
  
"Um, on the East Coast, around D.C."   
  
"Really? I thought the Griffins were from that area. Best in their league is what I heard."  
  
Harry shoots with a direct question, he scores!  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't pay much attention to Quidditch teams." I smiled smugly. "I'd much rather watch a good soccer match."  
  
"Soccer?"  
  
"Yeah, it's the best sport in the world! I remember telling my best friend that nothing else can quite measure up to a good soccer match." I closed my eyes, suddenly not wanting to play the conversation game any more. The mention of soccer reminded me of… too much. Too much to forget, even in this magical, unreal world.  
  
Harry must have noticed my change in mood. "Homesick?"  
  
I nodded silently.   
  
He watched me. Why did he keep staring at me that way? It's like he thought if he stared at me long enough he'd be able to see what I was really like, like one of those Magic 3-d pictures. I opened my eyes, stood up and stretched my arms above my head.  
"Well, I think I'll head upstairs, got a lot of reading to do." I grabbed my books and turned to wave goodnight.  
  
  
  
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor gave us his first class the next day.   
  
I'm really at a loss for words at describing him. He was just incredibly… dorky.  
  
"Good day class," he said in a nasal whine. He sniffed loudly, and walked over to the teacher's desk. He was hunched over, which made him seem smaller than he really was, which was still pretty small. He was unbelievably skinny, and only as tall as me when he was standing up straight. Still, I placed him in his late-thirties, early-forties.   
  
He seemed to have some kind of sinus problem, because he would punctuate all of his sentences with a wet sniff. Then he'd push his glasses farther up his abnormally large nose, and continue to drone on.  
  
I tried to tune him out, but his was a voice that was impossible to tune out. He kept droning on and on, like that annoying fly that insists on banging itself against your lamp just as you're about to fall asleep, and yet he was as hard to ignore as nails squealing on a chalkboard.  
  
"Today class, (sniff) we are going to start reviewing everything you've learned in the past four years. (sniff) Your O.W.L.'s," and yes he did say each letter, he didn't just say the word "owls", "are coming up, and (sniff) I am sure you all will work hard to get good grades, so that you can someday work in the Ministry just like (sniff) me."   
  
Several people snickered at this, but Professor Hockanhack (Yes, that was his name, Professor Harold Hockanhack,) just stared at them over his glasses, which had slid down to the end of his nose again, and turned to the blackboard. "Open your books to page 3 please. (sniff)"  
  
  
  
The sickly yellow sun of Saturday rose lazily above the distant mountains without having any effect on the temperature inside the castle, much less outside on the Quidditch fields.  
  
I woke up hugging my blanket to me, wanting more than anything else to just stay in bed. But then again, it was probably just as cold under the brownish-red cotton blankets as it was outside of them. And the Quidditch tryouts were soon, I had to remind myself. I had to get up.   
  
By the time nine o'clock rolled around, I was slipping on a sweatshirt and tying my hair back against the cold wind shaking the trees outside. Hermione had agreed to wait for me so that we could walk outside together. She was extremely nervous about the tryouts.  
  
"I stayed up all last night reading "Quidditch Through the Ages" again," she told me, rubbing her arms and trying to get some warmth into them. "I'm definitely going to try out for Chaser, I think Ron is going for Beater."  
  
"Hmm," I nodded as I spread some Chapstick on my lips. I was just as nervous about this as she was: I was going to see actual flying broomsticks. I needed to remember every bit of this moment, because this was where my writing skills would be put to the test.   
  
Now, as I grabbed my notepad and pencil, I happened to catch a glimpse of my face in a mirror that Parvati had hung up to do her makeup in. Several strands of my light brown hair had fallen out of the ponytail. I started to fix it, but then decided that the few wisps of hair hanging down looked sophisticated yet wild, a nice effect. My choice of clothing, jeans and a green sweatshirt, did nothing to enhance my looks, but I wasn't too concerned about that. After all, I was as plain as could be: light brown hair, hazel eyes, thin eyebrows and low cheekbones. I wasn't going to be entering any beauty pageants.  
  
The Quidditch field was about what I had expected. Longer than a soccer field, but not as large as a football field, its boundaries were marked by a painted white line on the ground. Three white goalposts, twenty-some feet high, stood at one end. They were long wooden posts, with hoops about two feet across at the top. On the other side of the field were three identical goalposts. The field itself was a large oval.  
  
Harry was already on the field, leaning on his broomstick, his ears and nose red from the cold. He was wearing black jeans and what I assumed were Quidditch robes- a long red shirt with the word "Seeker" written in gold on the back.  
  
There were two other people on the field as well, two older girls who were also each clutching brooms. I had to assume they were Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, because I knew that the Weasleys and Angelina Johnson had graduated.   
  
Hermione went over to talk to Harry, while I explored the pitch a bit more thoroughly. Other than finding a few candy wrappers in the stands, which were just like normal bleachers only a bit higher, I didn't find anything of interest. However, I did spot crowds of Gryffindors pouring out of the castle. The sixth and seventh years were trying to look nonchalant, while the few first years were nearly screaming with excitement as they ran towards us.   
  
I sat in the bleachers with the few other students who weren't trying out. Probably only eight of the many Gryffindors weren't trying out, which wasn't surprising. After all, being on the Quidditch team for your house is probably the greatest honor a normal kid can get here, aside from destroying the monster of the Chamber of Secrets or preventing a horde of werewolves from killing all the students, or something equally heroic and dangerous. It suddenly struck me that there hadn't been any hints of evil at all this year. Something should have come up by now. If something bad was going to happen to Harry and Co. this year, it should have started dropping hints by now.   
  
I watched jealously as all the kids, about fifty or so in all, were given brooms. I gave Hermione a thumbs up, and she smiled at me. Then Madame Hooch blew her whistle.  
  
I held my breath, as fifty or more kids on broomsticks rose into the air as if pulled by a string. If I had been watching this on TV, I would have sworn they were pulled by harnesses, or were on a blue screen. But no. They were actually rising into the air.  
  
You could tell which of the kids were used to riding, and which weren't: Harry, and most of the others, gripped the broom handle between their knees and ankles, and pushed themselves up with their arms. The others rode either like they were sitting in an easy chair, or sidesaddle with both legs on one side of the broom.   
  
I was a bit shocked by the brutal way in which Madame Hooch chose those who wouldn't make the team. She first had them all fly as fast as they could around the field. The ten or twelve who couldn't keep up were sent to sit in the bleachers with those of us who weren't trying out.  
  
After that, Hooch divided them up into groups according to what position they'd like to play. Ron and Gerald Rachette, the blond first year with the confident grin, were both trying out for Beater, with two fourth year boys and a seventh year girl. Hermione was trying for Chaser with a dozen or so other girls and several more boys. To my surprise, I saw Ron's little sister, Ginny, trying out for Keeper. From what I'd read, I kinda wouldn't have thought her that brave.   
  
Of course, nobody was trying out for Seeker. Harry floated alone in the middle of the field, an amused look on his face as he watched Ron and the other Beater wannabes whack at Bludgers sent flying their way. The Bludgers were about ten inches wide, perfectly round, and made of iron. Several of the Beaters were knocked out of the air, and Madame Hooch disqualified them immediately. They limped and dragged themselves off the field, to where a pinched woman who had to be Madame Pomfrey waited with her wand and a box of first aid supplies.   
  
Of course, Ron made the team. Show of hands now, who didn't think he would? Anybody? Anybody? Anybody? The first year boy took a Bludger in the face; however, he stayed in the air anyway. He seemed determined not to be disqualified.  
  
"Are you all right, boy?" Hooch called to him.  
  
He spat out a mouthful of blood and a few teeth. "Yeah, I'm fine." He raised his club closer to his face. He was one of the ones who had experience with brooms, because he was using both hands to clutch his club and had a tight grip on the handle with his knees.   
I was amazed at his agility and control when he suddenly dove after a stray Bludger which another Beater had missed, and narrowly prevented it from zooming after the Chasers who were gathered behind them.  
  
Of course, he made the team. I think everyone else would have mobbed Hooch if she hadn't let him on.   
  
All that were left were the positions of Keeper, one main Chaser and a few backup Chasers. The backups were supposedly there just in case one of the team Chasers got hurt, but I think everyone knew that they were really just there to take the place of Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet when they graduated.   
  
I won't bore you with the details of the passing and flying drills, which went on for nearly forty minutes before Hooch declared that second year Natalie McDonald would be the new Chaser for the team, and Hermione and a third year boy I didn't know would be the backups.   
  
Ginny didn't make Keeper, but she only lost by one save to a huge sixth year named Michael Arden. I had a feeling that she would be taking his place when he graduated.  
  
Everyone left the fields soon after that. After all, Slytherin would be appearing in about twenty minutes, and nobody really wanted to have to encounter them any more than possible. I stayed behind, however.  
  
I admit it; I was hoping someone would leave a broom out that I could try. But as I watched, everyone took their brooms with them to put in the equipment room, which was a small shack several dozen yards from the pitch.   
  
I realized then that I probably should have tried out for the team. I knew there was absolutely no chance I could have made the team, but at least I would have gotten to fly.  
  
Thinking I was completely alone, I climbed to the top of the bleachers, maybe twenty feet high, and spread my arms out, my eyes closed as I turned my face into the wind. I'd dreamed of flying. I used to dream of it all the time. However, in the last three years, I've never dreamed of flying. Ever. That gets lonely, every night praying to have a flying dream, and then waking up disappointed. Dreaming can be better than being awake, if you're flying.  
  
"Want to have a go?"  
  
I jumped at the sound, lost my footing, and fell to the ground, landing on my right shoulder. "Owww," I moaned, trying to sit up.  
  
I knew who it was that had startled me, even before he came running around to the back of the bleachers to see if I was OK. It was You-Know-Who.  
  
NO! Not Voldemort! Harry!   
  
Duh!  
  
"Are you all right?" He knelt down beside me, dropping both of the brooms he held. One was his Firebolt, gleaming gold and silver in the sun. The other was one of the older school brooms.   
  
I sat up, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. "I'll be fine." I blinked away tears, trying to get rid of the pain. "What were you trying to say to me before I nearly plummeted to my doom?" I was trying to joke, but Harry didn't laugh.  
  
"You looked like you wanted to fly," he told me seriously.  
  
"I do," I admitted without thinking. Then I blushed. "Silly, isn't it."  
  
"Not in the wizarding world it isn't. You should know that." He stood up, and looked over his shoulder at me. "You know everything." Was that a grin on his face?   
  
I stood up, and followed him back onto the pitch.   
  
"You've never flown before," he said, more of a statement than a question. He tossed me the broom, and I caught it in both hands. "All right then. Start out by gripping it about two feet away from the end, and straddling it like this." He demonstrated, then came over and corrected my grip. "No, right hand over your left. Crouch down, more, or you'll tip over again. Now, scoot your hands up to about here," he pushed gently on my hands, "and you'll have to grab it with your feet. Now, when you come to land, you'll want to bring your feet forward, and run a little bit with it until you're like this." He stood his broom up.   
  
I did as he said, feeling awfully silly, but hoping against hope that somehow this would actually be real.   
  
"Now, just push off."  
  
"What?!?"  
  
"Jump off the ground, like this." He bent his knees slightly more, then jumped off the ground into the air. He was hovering about three feet off the ground. "You try."  
  
I closed my eyes. When I was five, I had taken our broom and tried to fly it. I had fallen on my face and had kept bruises on my inner thighs from where the handle had landed. Painful. I hadn't thought of that incident in years, and yet it was the only thing I could think of. That, and that stupidly annoying song from Peter Pan, "You can fly, you can fly, you can fly! Think of the happiest things, it's the same as having wings! Think of all the joy you'll find, when you leave the world behind and-"  
  
"Are you coming or not?" Harry interrupted my thoughts. I took a deep breath, and jumped into the air. I waited for the moment when I'd hit the ground, but it didn't come.  
  
I slowly opened one eye, then the other. I was looking Harry straight in the face. I slowly turned my head down, to see that I was hovering off the ground.  
  
I was breathless. It was so simple, and yet, so beautiful. I was hanging in the air.   
  
Harry grinned. "It's always like that the first time."   
  
"Yeah," I agreed softly, not knowing what else to say.  
  
"C'mon, let's go higher."  
  
"Higher?!?" But he had already taken off. I watched how he used his hands and legs to somehow guide the broom, and I did the same.  
  
Squeezing the handle made it stop, but pushing it forward made it shoot like a rocket. Leaning forward made it dip, but leaning backward and pulling with your arms on the handle made it slow down and fall towards the ground.   
  
I was in the sky, just like Harry Potter from a fantasy book. However, unlike Harry Potter, flying did not come naturally to me. I had to concentrate every moment to keep from sending myself flying into a tree, or plummeting to the ground.   
  
It's just like the dreams, you know. It's just like where you can feel the wind in your face that makes you squint, you can feel your shirt flapping behind you, feeling gravity pull you down while something else entirely pulls you up.  
  
I slowly let go of the handle, raised my arms out to my sides, and laughed. And beside me, Harry was watching, smiling, and flying.  



	6. No Toads Were Harmed In The Making Of Th...

By the time Harry and I finished our little flying escapade, the Slytherins were already crowding onto the field, and we had to do a bit of fancy maneuvering to stay out of sight. We had to hide the school broom I had been using in some bushes by the castle doors, promising that we would return it to the equipment shed sometime in the next few days.   
  
I was still wide-eyed and breathless from my flying experience, and therefore wasn't very observant as we entered the Great Hall, where lunch was already well underway. After sitting on Ron, apologizing very stupidly, then sitting down beside him in the empty chair I had been aiming for in the first place, I stared blankly at the table, grinning. I couldn't get rid of the feeling of cool air rushing past my face, making me squint my eyes, of seeing the ground far below me, hearing nothing but wind in my ears as I soared high abo-  
  
"Hello?" Hermione jabbed me in the elbow, for what I realized was the third time. "Would you please inform Ron that he can't hog the pumpkin juice all to himself, and that others at the table may like some?"  
  
"Would you please inform Hermione that I was just pouring myself a cup, and that if she wanted the stupid juice she could've just said so?"  
  
"Would you please inform Ron that he needn't be so rude, and he's already had three glasses of pumpkin juice and he'll bloat like a water balloon if he drinks any more?"  
  
"Would you please inform Hermione that we on the Quidditch team have to keep up our strength?" Now both Ron and Hermione were leaning across me to glare at each other, face to face, and they were getting louder and louder with each sentence.  
  
"Would you please inform Ron that I AM on the Quidditch team?"  
  
"Would you please inform Hermione that 'backup Chaser' can not remotely compare to Beater?"  
  
"Would you please inform-" Hermione stopped as I banged my fist hard on the table and stood up.  
  
"Inform yourselves," I said, "that I am not going to get in the middle of your little spat. I am in too good of a mood to have the two of you ruin it, no matter how much you like each other." I stressed the word 'like' in a way that made both Hermione and Ron start to protest, blushing furiously. Of course, I'm a devoted H/H worshipper myself, but I knew teenage guys and gals well enough to know what will get them to shut up. I had just convinced the two of them that the more they argued, the more people thought they liked each other, which would effectively keep them quiet for the rest of the month at least.  
  
I reached over the table to quickly snag a crusty white roll, and walked away chewing, while Hermione and Ron sat back down and tried to concentrate on their plates, not speaking to or looking at each other.  
  
  
  
Somehow Harry and I became friends that day. I remembered a line from book one, "There are some things you just can't share without ending up friends, and defeating a twelve-foot troll is one of them." I guess flying for the first time is another one.   
  
But it was a shaky, not-quite-sure friendship. He still didn't completely understand me. I, of course, still thought he was a weak and shallow character, who went with the flow instead of shaping his circumstances. But he was a nice guy.   
  
It was only when I was alone, usually in bed at night, that I could stop thinking of all of them as real people, and again think of them as the names that had become so popular.   
  
After all, almost no fanfic writers actually thought of them as real people when they started writing. Usually fanfiction was just another way to get either you or the female character you wished you could be into a romantic relationship with Harry, Ron, Draco or Percy. (Yes, I've seen it done.)  
  
Would I ever be able to write again, I found myself wondering one night as I stared at the dark ceiling, knowing that Harry, Ron and Hermione were no longer just names, but were actual people? It would be like writing about one of my own best friends.  
  
It WOULD be writing about one of my own best friends, I realized a moment later. Harry was now a friend. I shuddered as I thought of my "original" characters that I had forced him to be with. I couldn't imagine him liking any of my characters, much less kissing them or risking his life for them.  
  
And with the depressing thought that I'd failed as an author, I went to sleep.  
  
  
  
History of Magic class was as uninteresting as ever the following Monday. However, we did get an interesting homework assignment.  
  
At least, Hermione and I thought it was interesting. Almost everyone else thought it was just a lot of work.  
  
"As you know," Professor Binns said near the end of class, "the Hogwarts library keeps careful records of who checks out which book when. These records have been kept ever since Hogwarts was founded."  
  
I had already chewed my nails down to the quick, and was ready to just give up trying to stay awake and zonk out on the table like Neville, who was sitting beside me, when I saw that Hermione was watching Binns with a gleam in her eye. I tuned him back in just in time in time to hear the homework assignment.  
  
"I want you all to go to the library this afternoon and check out the dates in the front of the books. Perhaps you might find a book that was checked out by Godric Gryffindor himself, although that's not very likely," he said. He wasn't watching us; he almost never did, after all, but instead wrote incomprehensible notes on the blackboard or stared at a pile of books and papers on his desk.  
  
That afternoon, the library was crowded with fifth year students, all opening the covers of the books, scanning the list of names and dates inside, then either rushing them to Madame Pomfrey's desk or shoving them back on the shelf dejectedly.  
  
The library was big enough to get lost in, and so Harry, Ron, Hermione and I all had a bookcase to ourselves to search.   
  
"Look, here's one checked out a hundred years ago, see?" Hermione was showing him. "Jezebel Jenkins, 1896."  
  
"This one's almost eighty," Ron said, holding out a large book with a dusty red cover.  
  
I was holding a very dusty book too, but I wasn't scanning the long list of names and dates in the front. Instead, I was peering over the top at a group of Slytherins nearby the Restricted section. Draco Malfoy was with them, and he was laughing. I noticed that even when he was with his friends he seemed to have more of a smirk than a smile, and that his laughter was still full of scorn.   
  
"Hey, look!" Harry was holding a book, "A Wizard's Guide To Ancient Egypt", and staring at it with wide eyes. "This one was checked out by my dad!"  
  
I turned away from my Draco-watching to peer over Harry's right shoulder. Ron and Hermione jostled each other for his left.  
  
Yep, there it was: James Potter, February 21, 1978. I shrugged, and turned away to keep looking, but Harry was holding the book as if it was the Holy Grail.  
  
"My dad read this," he said softly, and something in his tone made me turn back to look at him. His eyes were still wide, his glasses had slid so far down his nose they were about to fall off, but he didn't care. Hermione squeezed his shoulder with a gentle hand, and he looked away and smiled at her, then replaced the book on the shelf.   
  
Ass I turned back to shelves, I heard Ron's exclamation.  
  
"Hey, you'll never guess who checked this one out!"  
  
I turned, and saw he was holding a book called "Secrets of the Founders." He was goggling at the front page.  
  
"Who? My dad?" Harry dropped the book he had just pulled out and turned to look over Ron's shoulder. His jaw dropped. "Oh."  
  
That was all it took to get me interested as well. I stood on my tiptoes to look over Ron's head, and froze. Hermione must have looked to, because she said, "Oh my."   
  
Tom Riddle, May 2, 1953.   
  
I whistled in appreciation of the find. "Voldemort, huh?"  
  
They all stared at me for a moment. "So, you know that Voldemort's other name was-" Harry started to say, then cut himself off. "Never mind, I already know the answer."  
  
"I'm definitely keeping this one," Ron said, starting to grin. "Anything Voldemort was interested in has to be pretty evil. And this is about the secrets of the Founders, so…" He gave Hermione a nasty grin. "Wonder what kind of secrets they were?"  
  
"Oh, hush up, Ron." Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. "You have such a dirty mind."  
  
"What? Did I say anything like that?" He put on his most innocent look. "Did I?" He turned to me and Harry, supposedly for support. Harry shook his head, smiling, as Ron turned back to the book.  
  
"Uh-oh, this is pretty old, the pages are coming out," Ron said a moment later. Then, "Wait a minute, this isn't a page! Look!" Indeed, he was holding in his hand a piece of paper, thicker and more yellowed than the pages of the book.  
  
"It looks like a map or something," Ron said as once again the three of us crowded around him.  
  
"It is!" Hermione snatched it from Ron, and stared at it for a moment. "But it doesn't make any sense."  
  
Harry gently tugged it from Hermione's hands and stared down at it. "It can't be a map, it's too disorganized." He held it out to me, but I shook my head.  
  
"No thanks, I'm no good at figuring this kind of thing out."  
  
I swear, my brain had disappeared for a moment. It must have been the staring at Draco that did it, because I wasn't thinking at all.  
  
"Figuring what kind of thing out?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Plot twists and stuff like that," I explained, turning back to the bookshelves. "I mean, like in the first book, I actually thought it was Snape, and I never even expected a plot twist. And I didn't catch any of the clues in the next few books, either. I'm no good at that kind of thing." I pulled out a rather small book that was falling apart, and flipped open the cover expertly. "Hey look, this one's over 200 years-" I turned back to the three, to find that they were giving me looks ranging between friendly bewilderment and angry suspicion.  
  
"What," Hermione asked almost conversationally, "do you mean by 'in the first book?'"   
  
I stopped breathing for a moment as I realized exactly what I'd just said.   
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"No, I didn't," I protested, trying to come up with a way to recover. How could I have said something so abysmally stupid?   
  
"And," Ron cut in, "you also mentioned other books. What books are you talking about?"  
  
"No books, nothing," I said quickly, wishing that they would just leave it alone. I didn't mean to say that, I didn't mean to say that, please, PLEASE let me not really have said that.  
  
"Might this have something to do with where you're from, and how you know everything about us?" Harry, I thought you were on MY side! But he was staring at me now with the same intensity of the other two. I took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to just turn and run, and instead deciding to try and reason with them.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry I said that. I can't explain it, or I would, really," I tried to say.  
  
"Why can't you explain it?" If he had been angry, I could have burst into tears or run away, but Harry was as cool and calm as he usually was.   
  
"Because you wouldn't believe me!"  
  
Now Ron was angry. "You don't know that! We might believe you, whatever this earth-shattering secret is, we might believe it! You don't know that we wouldn't!" He crossed his arms. "Then again, you know everything, don't you." Harry had used almost the same phrase on me only a few days ago, and it had sounded so friendly then. Why was it now so different?  
  
"Look, you just have to trust me!"  
  
"But we don't trust you. I can't trust someone who keeps secrets, and tries to lie to me," Hermione said. Oh no, oh no, oh no, I can't have them fight with me! Things were going so well!   
  
The plot had just thickened, and now my characters- and in that flash of anger they WERE *my* characters, not real people- were trying to kick me out of the story! How dare they!  
  
"Just leave me alone, Hermione. You have to trust me. You don't have any other choice."  
  
Something in my tone must have repelled the other girl, because she stepped back a bit, looking- not angry, really, but hurt. Ron was angry, no doubt about it. And Harry-  
  
Oh god. Harry was staring at me in a way that there was no name for. I felt like it was only the strength of that gaze keeping me on my feet, and yet it hurt. Oh, just having him look at me hurt. But what he said hurt even worse.  
  
"I don't know what this big secret is, or why you can't tell us. Maybe there is something so big, so incomprehensible, that we wouldn't believe you if you told us." He took a breath. "But I trust Hermione and Ron implicitly. They're my friends, and a big part of that is that we can trust each other. But if you can't trust us enough to tell us something that's obviously important, then we can't trust you."  
  
He didn't have to say the obvious: If we can't trust you, we can't be friends.  
  
"You wouldn't do that to me," I said, trying to relate this person staring at me to the one who fulfilled my dreams and took me flying just days ago. "You, of all people, wouldn't do that to me."  
  
He turned away.  
  
I was stunned. What happened to the good, kind, chivalrous Harry Potter, hero of heroes and king of the nice guys? Inhuman, immortal star of the best selling books ever?  
  
He was turning his back on me?  
  
"Are you telling me," I kept my tone as even and calm as his had been, even though I felt like screaming, "that the only reason you've been nice to me is to try to find out how I know all this stuff about you?"  
  
The hesitation as he walked away, the pause before he took the next step, made me realize that no, he had been nice because he liked me. But I knew the question had hurt his pride, somewhere.  
  
"You deceitful, horrible person," I whispered, not believing what I was saying but wanting to hurt him badly for turning his back on me. "No wonder you were almost in Slytherin. It's where you belong."  
  
He stopped, and I almost thought he would turn around, either to yell at me or to protest my accusations. But he just stood there, with Ron and Hermione staring between the two of us. I turned my back on all three of them.  
  
It was several moments later that I realized I was standing alone. They had left, probably to discuss the map or whatever that Ron had found, to start their adventure of the fifth year, to fight evil and do daring deeds of good that would sell another million books for J.K.R. And I was left standing alone.  
  
  
  
  
The grounds of Hogwarts were absolutely beautiful. The Forbidden Forest stretched out over several hundred miles, the outskirts light and cheerful like something out of Bambi, and the deep inner forest dank and foreboding. Outside of the forest were long stretches of green grass, just starting to turn brownish-gold from the approaching cold weather.   
  
The most beautiful of all was the lake, though. It was a perfect treasure in every way. The water was silver, with gold streaks where the sun hit it and emerald patches where you could see the mossy rocks underneath. It was the kind of lake where you'd expect an Excalibur-bearing woman to rise up from its depths, or mermaids to lounge on the sand, or a unicorn to lean over to lap up some of the calm, unbroken water.  
  
Surrounded on one side by pine and oak and the other by huge willow trees, it was near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but not so far from the school as to be a tedious walk.  
  
And that's where I headed. I had no place else to go. Why do homework assignments? This wasn't my real school. Why head for the Common Room? There wasn't anyone there waiting for me. And I couldn't stay in the library another moment longer.  
  
So I headed for the lake. I wasn't crying. That surprised me a bit. I cried about everything. Watching Titanic nearly sent me to the hospital for dehydration. But this, the one thing in my life that I probably should have cried about, wasn't getting to me at all.  
  
But still, the lake was the only place I could think of to go. The Weeping Willow, the crying tree, looked very inviting. I hesitated for a moment, remembering the Whomping Willow, the prize fighting tree, was also here at Hogwarts, but after a moment of study I decided that this particular tree wouldn't fight back.  
  
I was only a few feet away from the tree, when I saw that another girl was already occupying the space I had planned to sit in, staring at the water in a contemplative way. At first I thought she must be a nymph, a dryad, a fairy, some kind of magical creature, because she was dressed in a robe of pure white, which contrasted her jet-black hair and large black eyes. She looked older than me, but not too much older.  
  
I started to back away, when I realized she hadn't noticed me at all. So, I sat down beside her, staring at the water.  
  
Aha, there came the tears, right on cue.   
  
The girl beside me glanced at me, then asked in a calm voice, "What do *you* have to be sad about?"  
  
I looked back at her. "I had an awful fight with my only friends, all over something I can't help." I rubbed my face with my sleeve, and glanced back at the water.   
  
"What house are you in?" she asked, her face suddenly looking suspicious.  
  
"Gryffindor," I answered. "You?"  
  
"Ravenclaw." Her face softened. "What did you and your friends fight about?" Her tone was motherly and concerned, but oddly detached.  
  
"I have a secret," I started to explain, not knowing why, "and if I told them, they wouldn't believe me."  
  
"Ah." She was silent for a long time. A moment later, she asked, "What if they did believe you?"  
  
I thought about that for a moment, sniffled and wiped away more tears, then replied, "It would completely change their world. They wouldn't be able to live the same way again."  
  
Her eyes widened a bit, and she turned to stare back at the water. Taking this as a signal that she didn't want to talk about it anymore, I also stared at the crystalline surface of the lake.   
  
A moment later, she asked, "Could you tell me what your secret is?"  
  
I stared at her, so surprised that I stopped crying. "You wouldn't believe me either."  
  
"What if I swore that I would believe you?"  
  
"It would rock your world."  
  
"I think," and an odd smile came to her face, "that I could afford to have my world rocked a bit at the moment."  
  
Indiscreet as it may have been, I decided to tell her. And for the next five minutes, I did.  
  
"Where I come from, everyone is a Muggle," is how I started out. "There is no magic, nowhere, not really. Not like there is here. But people like to write fiction stories about magic. There is this one lady, named J.K. Rowling, who is really skilled about writing about magic. She writes books about this school called Hogwarts, and how all the students who go there are wizards and witches, and can do magic. And where I come from, this school is just a make-believe place, from that series of books. But somehow, I've ended up here," I gestured around, "and I'm talking to people who are just characters in the books. I never imagined that they really could actually be real. It's just a story, after all, and everyone here is just a character in that story. And yet, here I am. It doesn't make sense to me, but it's true." I watched her carefully.  
  
Her eyes widened. "We're all just characters in books?"  
  
"I'm the only one that I know of who isn't," I replied carefully.   
  
She pondered this a moment. "What are the books about?"  
  
"The first one is called "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." You know who he is." She nodded, and I continued. "It's about how he came to Hogwarts, and how he defeated Voldemort and stopped him from getting the Sorcerer's Stone. The second book is about how he fought the monster in the Chamber of Secrets. The third is about how Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban and was apparently trying to kill him, and the fourth is all about the Triwizard Tournament."  
  
"I remember all of that!" She looked excited now. "It's really all just made up by someone? All just books? And you've read them?"  
  
"Yeah, I know a lot about them."  
  
She suddenly got serious. "And these books, the books that I- we're- in, follow everything Harry Potter does?"  
  
I nodded, and she grabbed my arm. "Did it say- did it say how a guy named Cedric Diggory died?"  
  
I stared at her, surprised at her sudden seriousness. The look in her eyes was almost dangerous, and I was uncomfortable. "Yes, it does, but-"  
  
"Tell me." She was speaking very softly, but her eyes- "Tell me about Cedric. Please."   
  
I stared at her. Black hair, dark eyes, Ravenclaw- "Cho Chang," I whispered.  
  
She smiled momentarily, but her eyes were still begging me. "Please. How did Cedric die?"   
  
"You ARE Cho Chang!" I accused. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
She grabbed me by the shoulders, and forced her face close to mine. "How," she said, pronouncing each word carefully, "did Cedric die?"  
  
"Voldemort," I said, not knowing how else to answer. "He and Harry were in the maze, when Cedric was attacked by a spider. Harry tried to help him, and got hurt. They managed to stun the spider, but Harry was hurt and couldn't go for the cup. Cedric refused to take it, because Harry had helped him, and Harry also refused to take it, because Cedric had beaten him in everything else. Quidditch, the tasks, and even at asking you to the ball."  
  
Cho turned red. "Yeah, poor Harry." She let go of my shoulders, but waved her hand for me to continue.  
  
"So they decided to take the cup together, so that it would be a Hogwarts victory. But the cup was a Portkey."  
  
Her eyes went even wider at this. "A Portkey? Where to?"  
  
"I don't know where, exactly. But it was a graveyard. And Voldemort was there. He killed Cedric, and then-" I suddenly pictured Harry, the guy I knew, being tortured by Voldemort. It was a lot different picture than the one I got from reading the fourth book. After all, in the book he was just the hero; everyone was expecting Voldemort to try and hurt him. But Harry was a real person… He really, actually went through all that…  
  
It was enough to make me feel sick. The look on my face must have warned Cho, because she said, "And that's how he died?"  
  
"Yeah," I said.  
  
She bit her lip, and turned to stare once more at the water. I watched her, puzzled. Why was she so sad? If someone had told me that my entire life was just a story for someone else's entertainment, then I'd have laughed at them, or committed suicide, or something drastic. But she was just quiet.  
  
"We were going to get married, you know."  
  
"What?"   
  
"Cedric and me. He kept telling me how he'd try out for Quidditch for England, and if he didn't make it he'd become a Herbologist. He even drew a picture of the house he'd build. We were going to live together forever, and have bunches of kids." It wasn't an emotional confession, just a statement of fact.  
  
I reached over and hugged her. She hugged me back for a moment, and then wiped her eyes. She'd been crying, just barely.  
  
"But that doesn't have anything to do with your problem." She patted me on the back. "I can see why you wouldn't be able to tell Harry and his friends about this. They wouldn't believe you."   
  
"I know," I said, wishing she could help me.  
  
"Tell you what, I'll talk to Harry or Hermione about it. Maybe try and get them to lay off of you for a while." She waved a finger at me. "But you have to try to be extra nice to them, and show that you'd tell them about it if you could."  
  
"Really? Thanks."  
  
She stared at me in silence a few moments more, then sighed. "I need to get back to the castle. Now that I know all this… There are some things I have to fix. I'll talk to you later."  
  
She left a little after that. Once again, I was alone. The sun was starting to go down, leaving reflections of amethysts and rubies across the lake surface. I stared at the water for a moment, tracing the rocks, barely visible underneath the water, with my eyes.   
  
After a few minutes, I realized I wasn't just looking at rocks and stones. There was something under the surface that was too square to be a rock, and looked as if it was made of wood. I glanced behind around, but Cho was long gone, and there wasn't anyone else hanging around the lake. Most of the students were inside, trying to avoid the cool wind that the sunset had brought with it.  
  
I climbed out from under the willow, and waded into the cool water. Whatever I had spotted was only a few feet out in the water, where it wasn't very deep, but it was hidden under the reflection of the trees. Only at sunset, when the light was at a certain angle, would anyone have spotted it. I hiked my robes up above my knees, but I still couldn't avoid getting a little wet.  
  
There! It wasn't just a piece of driftwood, it was a chest! A wooden chest, half buried in the sandy bottom of the lake, with its rusted metal handle sticking up just barely high enough for me to reach without dropping the hem of my robes into the water.   
  
I reached down, grabbed the handle, which was both rough from rust and slimy from the algae and mud under the water, and tugged. It wouldn't come lose. I dropped my robes into the water, (after all, I could always get dry again, and it was only about three feet deep here,) and grabbed on with both hands.  
  
Pulling with all my might, I managed to move it just a few inches. I reached underwater and pushed away as many of the stones blocking it as I could move, and then yanked hard on the handle once more.  
  
The chest came loose from the bottom of the lake with a jerk, and I fell backwards into the water.   
  
So much for only getting a little wet; I was soaked from head to foot. But I had the chest.  
I dragged it onto the shore. For something so big that had gotten stuck so stubbornly in the lake bottom, it was surprisingly light. Whoever had buried it must have had to pile rocks on top to keep it from floating to the surface.  
  
There was no lock, I was happy to see, but that didn't really matter as the latch had rusted shut. Seeing no other alternative, I picked up a rock and broke through the thin wooden lid.  
  
Inside was a single jagged-edged piece of paper. There were fine ink lines scribbled across it in an apparently random manner. The ink must have been waterproof, because the paper was slightly damp.   
  
I took the paper carefully; it wasn't as yellowed with age as the one Ron found had been, and I was sure this was a second piece to whatever his paper was. The lines were going three ways: up and down, left to right, and diagonally from upper left corner to lower right. I studied it for a moment, then flipped it over.  
  
On the back, in big loopy handwriting, were two letters. H.H.  
  
  
  
I felt different. It was a difference in the same way that Saturday feels different than Monday, even just after you wake up. It's the way you feel different holding an A+ paper to your chest while your friends are waving around their C's and D's. It's the feeling when you watch your best guy friend open up secret admirer card, and pretend to be all surprised and excited about it, when you know that the signature is in your handwriting.   
  
Dinnertime was awkward. After running up to the Common Room to change robes, I returned to the Great Hall and headed automatically to the end of the table where Harry and his friends always sat before I remembered that we weren't friends anymore. Not that I cared. I had a piece of their stupid map, and I knew where it had come from too.  
  
Anyone who reads fanfiction, especially those who read Cassandra Claire's fantastic stories, knows immediately what H.H. stands for. Helga Hufflepuff.  
  
If I had to guess, I'd think that Ron's piece said either G.G., S.S. or R.R., that is, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, or Rowena Ravenclaw.   
  
Ron was reading out of that stupid book he had found, "Secrets of the Founders." Hermione looked a bit interested, and I saw that Harry was pretending to listen, but was really distracted by watching something over Ron's shoulder. I tried to follow his gaze, and saw several people crowded in a group by the Ravenclaw table. Someone had burst into tears, which was probably what caught Harry's attention.  
  
Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's face, directing his wandering attention back to the book. Then, Hermione suddenly whispered something in Ron's ear, and the three of them stared straight at me.  
  
I turned around, and walked out of the Great Hall. There wasn't any malice in their looks, but I knew I wouldn't be welcome. So, I headed up to the Common Room.  
  
Not a great decision, I realized halfway there, because I had skimped on lunch too, and was now pretty hungry. But eating dinner wasn't worth going back and trying to figure out how those three were going to deal with me.  
  
The portrait of the Fat Lady was quite normal looking, until you got up close. She was a very huge lady in a green dress which seemed to barely contain the great folds of skin bulging out around her hips and shoulders. Her hand rested on a small table, with a pristine white tablecloth, and several flowers bloomed in a vase on the table. A bookcase rested behind her, and under her feet was a small wooden chest, covered in dust.  
  
As you first walked up to her, you thought that she was one of those paintings with the eyes cut out, and someone behind the wall watching you. Then, she'd move, and her movement would be two dimensional. It might seem like her arm was moving forward or backward, but it was like that Nintendo game Paper Mario; a two-d character in a 3-d world.   
  
"Lion fang," I recited the password and the huge portrait swung forward to show a small doorway cut out of the wall. I climbed through, to see Neville sitting on one of the huge couches that were scattered about the room, crying silently.  
  
He wasn't really a fat boy, just very… pudgy. He had a babyish face, topped with blond hair and his small, childlike features looked strange in his wide round face. His eyes were red and puffy, and he sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve as I walked into the room.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to imitate the motherly tone Cho had used with me.  
  
He sniffled as he stared up at me. "Trevor, my toad- he's dead!"  
  
"Oh no." I sat down beside him, and put my arm around his shoulder. "Are you sure he isn't just missing?"  
  
"I thought that too, but then…" He burst into tears again, loudly, and I hugged him closer. After a moment, he gained control of his tears. "M-Malfoy said he had been using it for t-t-target practice, and he gave me-" He pointed down at a shoebox resting at his feet.   
  
I picked it up, and opened the box carefully.   
  
"Ecch!" I nearly dropped the box, but instead replaced the lid. "Neville- I don't think that's Trevor. I think it's just some wild one that Malfoy's ripped apart. I'm pretty sure that this isn't your frog."  
  
"Toad!" He corrected me immediately. "Are you sure that isn't him?"  
  
Actually, I was pretty sure it was the toad. But no kid should have to go through life knowing his pet had been mutilated like that. "You know what? I was by the lake today-"  
  
"That's why your hair is all wet!"   
  
Rats, so people *could* notice. Oh well. "And I thought I saw a frog- excuse me, toad- near the water. I tried to catch him, but he jumped away. If that was him," which I was pretty sure it wasn't, "he's probably very happy."  
  
"You think so?" Neville's face lit up. Poor kid, to be stuck with a name like "Neville."   
  
"I'm pretty sure it was him."  
  
"What color was he?"  
  
What color were toads? Green? No, that was frogs. Um…"Um, brown?"  
  
"It WAS him!" Neville grinned.   
  
"See?" Phew. "He's probably found himself a toad girlfriend, and a nice muddy house to live in." I nudged the shoebox under the couch with my toe, hoping Neville would forget about it. "I had a hamster once-"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A rat," I amended, "who ran away. We found her a couple weeks later, downstairs, and she had had lots of little hamster- er, rat- babies. She was perfectly happy."  
  
"Then I probably should get a new pet."  
  
"Yeah, that would probably be a good idea," I agreed, kicking the shoebox entirely out of view as I stood up.   
  
"Would you go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday and help me pick one out?" His eyes widened.   
  
"Sure, that'd be great. I'll see you Saturday." I walked around the corner and waited for Neville to leave the Common Room. He exited the portrait hole, tripping over the doorframe. I then walked quietly back over to the sofa, and pulled the shoebox containing the unfortunate toad out. Could Malfoy have really done this?   
  
Trevor got a decent burial. And, luckily for me, Neville saw a toad by the lake the next afternoon. It disappeared into the water with a splash before he could see it too well, but he was convinced it was Trevor. All's well that ends well, I suppose.  
  
Except for toads.  
  
  
  



	7. Detention, Draco (*sigh*) and Dramatic D...

~Diana watched as the other transfer students were called up to try on the Sorting Hat. Two of the other students became Ravenclaws, one was a Slytherin, and the smiling French girl was a Gryffindor. Then, it was her turn.  
  
She could feel Harry's eyes boring into her. He had seemed to like her automatically, as soon as she had stepped onto the train. Why? What would he think of her if she wasn't a Gryffindor?  
  
Her last thought as the hat descended around her was 'How in the world do you expect to get into Gryffindor if you let stage fright overcome you?'  
  
As the silky brim descended around her, she thought furiously, 'Gryffindor, please, let me be a Gryffindor.'  
  
"Ah," the hat whispered in her ear, "you are the nervous one, aren't you? Shall I delve into your mind? You're very good with words, very wise, that's a good sign of wisdom, you know. Ah, quiet and shy, but very friendly underneath. And you know how to hurt people when you need to, that's a vice and a virtue. But you're brave. Under it all, you're the bravest person to ever come to Hogwarts. Shall we put you in GRYFFIND- ~  
  
"Ouch!" I yelped as my pencil snapped in half. I had been putting too much pressure on it, and now had a sore finger and a jagged line dividing my columns of handwriting into two pieces to boot. And I only had two pencils left before I had to start using the huge feather quills everyone else used, and those I had been saving for schoolwork. If there was ever a time in my life that I felt like swearing, it was then.  
  
I started to shove my notepad back into my pocket. I hated having to handwrite stories; I always thought better when I was typing, because my thoughts could just come out so much faster. I could type 50 words a minute, and maybe write 20-25 words a minute. If I didn't use cursive. And it didn't help that my hands were still very sore, and that just holding a pencil left a mild rash across my hands.   
  
The longer I spent in the Gryffindor Common Room, the more I hated the sight of red velvet. The curtains on the windows, the covers on the couches, even the crimson carpet had a velvety feel. Godric Gryffindor must have really liked the color red. I wondered briefly if the founders all got to decide what their dorms looked like. Deciding that was a good idea to research, I grabbed the top half of my broken pencil and jotted it down in my notepad.   
  
My hands were still bright red and raw from the afternoon's escapades. Let me just tell anyone who will listen: Potions class is a nightmare that no fanfic author can ever really express.  
  
Soundproofing Spray was what Snape told us we were making during double Potions with the Slytherins that day. I had started to notice a trend in the way things were named around here; why couldn't J.K. come up with something besides alliterations?  
  
That was something to think about: what if I was actually being written in by J.K.? Did I have to do whatever she wrote that I did? What if she wrote me off, like Cedric?   
  
But what-if's weren't going to help anything. I pushed the thought out of my mind, and tried to concentrate on Snape's voice.   
  
"Squirt this under the doors and around the windows of a room, and not one word uttered within will escape and be heard by unwelcome listeners," Snape explained, brandishing a bottle of the brownish-red liquid. Somehow the man managed to make every sentence he uttered sound like he was announcing the end of the world; not depressing, but instead destructively gleeful.   
  
Snape had put us into partners, which meant, of course, that Harry and Draco were together. Hermione and Neville were together again; was Snape feeling suicidal today, or did he just want another excuse to take points from Gryffindor? Ron had taken one look at the two Slytherins still without partners, and automatically moved towards me. I took it as a compliment that he still preferred my company to Millicent Bulstrode, but he didn't look too happy either way.   
  
I, on the other hand, considered this a great opportunity. I wanted to prove to Harry, Ron and Hermione that they could trust me. Any time I spent with them was time where I could prove my trustworthiness. How exactly I would accomplish this short of telling them everything I didn't know.   
  
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, it depends on how you look at it, I got my opportunity.   
  
I had just begun mashing together some kind of root and some powdered stuff Ron had told me to use, (I didn't want to know exactly what it was, as throwing up in class wouldn't have earned any points for Gryffindor,) and Ron was adding stuff to our shared cauldron.   
  
From the expressions crossing over Harry's face, Malfoy was goading him so that only he could hear. Their table was right next to ours, but I still couldn't hear what the Slytherin was telling our hero. Whatever it was, it was making Harry clench his fists on the table. He really was trying to stay in control, but if Malfoy didn't quit soon there would be some fists flying.   
  
I had to help Ron measure the stuff out after that. He wasn't talking to me much, but I didn't mind. After that, Ron started stirring, and I glanced over at Harry to see if Malfoy had given it up yet.   
  
Harry was reaching into the drawer beneath the table to get something, and I saw Malfoy drop something long and glittery into their pot, which was beginning to bubble over. I glanced down their table, to try and figure out what mystery ingredient Malfoy had added. It must have been the porcupine quills, I finally decided. Then, I remembered.   
  
That's what Neville had added in the first year that had given everybody boils! If you added them before you took the potion off the fire…  
  
Malfoy was smirking and had moved away a half step. The pot was beginning to boil over, was probably seconds away from an eruption, and Harry was standing up to lean over the pot and add some unicorn hair…  
  
I didn't have time to think; I reached over and gently knocked a bottle of salamander blood off of Harry's table to the floor. Harry saw it, and bent down to pick it up, just as the his potion shot out of the pot, spattering all over around their table. None of it got Harry, who was under the table out of range, but most of it had gotten Malfoy!  
  
He was staring in horror at his arms and chest, which were swelling up with sores. I felt horrified too, as Snape came over to eye Malfoy, who was making odd whimpering noises as he stared with wide eyes at the horror caused by his practical joke.  
  
"Who did this?" Snape asked quietly, his voice brimming with rage. "Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy just gestured at Harry, who looked only mildly startled.   
  
"Potter," Snape began, "you are going to pay dearly for this, you know." He was hissing, not shouting, which made it all the worse.  
  
What could I do? I could say I'd seen Malfoy do it, but Snape wouldn't believe me, and maybe Harry would get in worse trouble. I could just stay quiet, and hope Harry didn't get expelled. Or… I suddenly remembered reading Tom Sawyer. That part where Becky's about to get in trouble with their teacher, and Tom knows it, so even though he knows he'll get beaten he stands up and says-  
  
"I did it," I said clearly and loudly.   
  
Snape turned his gaze on me, and I was immediately sorry I had chosen to do anything. Me and my bright ideas… Snape took a half step towards me.  
  
"You did not!" Malfoy choked out, almost as angry as Snape, if that were possible.  
  
I tore my gaze away from Snape's building fury, and looked at Malfoy. "How do you know that?"  
  
"Because I d-" Malfoy stopped as he realized what he'd been about to say. "Ow!" He tried to cover it up with another cry of pain, but Snape was turning to stare at his prize student with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Detention," he finally managed to say, staring hard at Malfoy, who shrank back just as much as I had at my first Snape-on-the-warpath encounter. I had turned to give Harry and Ron a triumphant smile, when Snape turned back to me. "For both of you."  
  
Oops.   
  
Ever notice that brilliant plans always backfire? No exceptions, not even for famous fanfic authors trapped in magical worlds.   
  
I started to open my mouth to protest, but caught myself in time. "Yes, sir," I whispered.   
  
He gave Harry a dark look. Snape must have been very disappointed that he didn't get to punish Harry this time. Harry stared him down, though, and the teacher turned away to order Crabbe and Goyle to carry Malfoy up to the Hospital Wing.   
  
We returned to the lesson pretty quickly after that, but not before Ron gave me a thumbs-up sign. I probably would have been a lot happier if I hadn't now had the imminent detention on my mind.  
  
  
  
Our detention was given to us by Snape after dinner that night. For the first time in three days, I got to sit with Harry and Co. It was a lot more fun than sitting alone, or with strangers, let me tell you, even though we didn't really say anything to each other. However, it was all ruined by Snape's smirk as he gave me the evil eye between every bite of his dinner.  
  
He was frowning sternly, however, as Draco and I approached him after the meal was over. Draco was wearing a properly penitent look, whereas I was just terrified. Snape gave Malfoy a benevolent smile, which turned into a stern frown as he looked at me.  
  
"The two of you," he said in an oily tone, "will spend the rest of the night scrubbing the Great Hall." He flicked his wand with a jerk of the wrist, and two buckets appeared on the floor in front of him. "From top to bottom, until it's done."  
  
"Not by hand, of course," Draco said quickly, though it was more question than statement.  
  
"By hand." The Professor flicked his wand again, and two scrub brushes appeared as if to clarify the point. Snape narrowed his eyes as he looked up at Draco again. "You will find, Mr. Malfoy, that disrupting my class is not a wise thing to do." He stared at his prize student for a moment, then turned back to me. "And, I will confiscate your wands to make sure that you don't cheat." He reached out a hand, and I reluctantly placed my wand in it. He held out the same hand to Draco, who shrugged.  
  
"I left it in the Common Room, professor," he explained, staring at the floor and shifting his weight from left to right. He stared up through his bangs at Snape like the professor was the murderous hunter and he was Bambi. You know the look; wide, innocent eyes, pouted lips. Even though I knew he was faking, I nearly melted. Snape merely nodded, however, and stalked away, his robes sweeping the floor behind him.  
  
Malfoy grinned at Snape's retreating back, then turned to me as the doors closed.  
  
We were completely alone. That fact shot into my mind like it had been fired out of a cannon. It was as dangerous as a cannonball, too, because the thoughts that accompanied it brought a bright scarlet blush to my face. I leaned over and picked up one of the brushes, hoping that Malfoy hadn't noticed that I was turning colors just because of him.  
  
He brought out his wand from his pocket, and pointed it at his bucket. A moment later, the brush was scrubbing the floor, as he climbed up on the Slytherin table to lazily watch the brush go back and forth across the floor all on its own.  
  
I started to protest angrily, but what was the point? Snape wouldn't believe me if I ran to tell him, or he wouldn't care. Malfoy would just hate me. And it wasn't any business of mine if Draco got the punishment he deserved.  
  
Those charitable thoughts came a bit more easily to my mind once Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors were out of sight.   
  
"So, are you a pure blood?" Malfoy's voice startled me.  
  
I thought a moment. "Yes," I answered finally. I was; pure-blooded Muggle, but he didn't have to know all that.   
  
I suddenly remembered Trevor, and Neville's big, teary eyes. "I saw what you did to Neville's toad," I said casually, eyeing him from my position on the floor. I dipped my brush into the bucket, and jerked it out again. Whatever soap this was, it burned my hands. Not too badly, but enough to be an even bigger aggravation than scrubbing the floor while Malfoy lounged on the table.   
  
He gave a knowing laugh. "Ah, you fell for it too, then."  
  
I froze. "What?"   
  
He sat up on one elbow. "Why would I waste my time catching Longbottom's slimy pet when all I had to do was dump some of the toad parts we keep around for potions into a box and hand it to him?"  
  
Somebody just pin a sign on me saying "I am Miss Gullible, please con me."   
  
"Why do it at all, then, if it was so much trouble?" I didn't want to argue with Malfoy, but I had a soft spot for kids and pets. The hamster I had told Neville about had been my fourth one. The other three had all died early deaths, the two that came after it had also come to their ends in gruesome and untimely ways.  
  
"For a laugh," Malfoy said, lying back down.   
  
"You know," I said, dipping my brush again into the warm and greasy liquid, "if you make somebody cry, you have power over their emotions, but if you make somebody laugh, then you have complete control over them."  
  
He looked at me again, eyebrows raised. "Where'd you read that?"  
  
"I don't know, a book or a magazine or something." Actually I had made it up right then, but it was something I had thought about before. I could make my sister laugh on command, which was more challenging than making her cry. Also more rewarding. Anyone can make anybody cry, but it takes a persuasive, smart person to make someone laugh.  
  
Malfoy seemed to consider that for a moment. I thought he was going to say something else, but he instead stretched out again, eyes closed.  
  
I tried to ignore him after that, but… After all, this was *the* Draco Malfoy. Hero of the great "Draco Dormiens" series, bearer of the Living Blade, Heir of Slytherin, wearer of leather pants…  
  
"I know your father is a Death Eater."  
  
He only partly sat up this time, as if looking at me was more effort than it was worth. "And I know your mother must be a-"  
  
"And I know that you're insanely jealous of Harry," I cut him off.   
  
"Potter?" He spat the name like a curse. "When he does something that I can be jealous about, inform Orgorfa the Giantess before you inform me, because she'll probably care ten times as much." He sounded bored, but I had struck a nerve, I knew.  
  
"You are jealous."  
  
"Of what?" He laughed; disbelieving laughter that probably would have sounded believable to anyone else.  
  
"Of his Quidditch skills," I started to say.  
  
"Potter has no Quidditch skills. He just has a faster broom; he doesn't have any style at all." I could tell by the way he said it that he was telling the truth.  
  
"You're jealous of his fame, then," I tried a different tactic. Both my brush and his had stilled several minutes ago, but neither of us noticed.  
  
"Oh sure, he has a great ruddy scar on his head and every Dark Wizard from here to Japan trying to wring his neck." He scoffed at me. "And here I was thinking you might actually be more intelligent than the rest of the Gryffindors."   
  
Something in that sentence hit me, and I kneeled next to the table so I could look him in the eye. "Then I know what it is that makes you hate him so much."  
  
Malfoy rolled over to look me in the eyes. They were silver, which disoriented me for a minute. I'd never before seen silver eyes.  
  
"And what might that be?"  
  
"You're jealous of his friends. You know that he has the freedom to be friends with whoever he wants, and you don't have that. You tried to take that away from him on the train ride before your first year, telling him that he should only hang out with pure blooded wizards, but he wouldn't let you take that from him." Ding! I would never write Draco Malfoy the same way again. I thought I had known everything about him; I was wrong. Jealousy takes many different forms, and I had always thought Draco had petty jealousy. This was different.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, poor charity-dependent Weasel, Granger the buck-toothed Mudblood, and Longbottom."  
  
"No insult for Neville?"  
  
"It would be redundant," he said firmly.   
  
I laughed, and he looked surprised. "So, I was right. You aren't like the other Gryffindors."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He shrugged, and waved his wand. Both of our brushes started sweeping the floor, making wide circles. I jumped up on the table as one zoomed right where my feet had been a moment ago.   
  
"Why are you being so nice to me?"  
  
He raised his eyebrows at that. "What were you expecting?" I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut in, "Yeah, yeah, Potter and his friends have been regaling you with stories of how evil I am."  
  
"I know you aren't evil." I considered what I was about to say. "I think sometimes you're a real jerk, and I know you hate Harry, but I don't think you're evil."  
  
"You know, I know something about you, too," Draco said, seemingly concentrating on the floor.   
  
"Really?"  
  
"I know that you won't ever fit in with the rest of them in Gryffindor."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He smirked at me, and his tone was light, but his eyes were flashing. "Potter and his friends won't ever accept you. You're just too different from them. You can't fit in, no matter how hard you try."  
  
I stared at him. Was he trying to be nice, or was he telling me this to make me mad? "I know I'm different. And frankly, I don't care."  
  
He shrugged again. "Well, when they kick you out of your own House, don't say I didn't warn you." He waved his wand once more, and the entire floor was suddenly shining clean and bright. "I'll see you around." He jumped off the table, his shoes leaving tracks on the wet floor.  
  
"Wait a minute!"   
  
He turned back to look at me. "What?" He sounded annoyed.  
  
"What do you mean, I won't fit in?" I knew I was different, but if *he* knew I was different, something was wrong.   
  
He gave me that smirk, the half-smile that wouldn't tell me anything. "All I'm saying is that you would make a great Slytherin." He walked out.  
  
"…you would have made a great Slytherin…" The words seemed to echo off the walls in the huge room. I stared at the floor for a minute, then followed Malfoy's dry tracks out of the room.  
  
  
So that's why I was sitting up in the Gryffindor Common room after everyone else had already gone to bed, rubbing my hands which were still raw from the sting of that soap and contemplating the direction of this story. I still wasn't sure if I was in J.K.'s fantasy world made real, or a real world that J.K. only wrote about. Either way, this would end up being a great story. Maybe I could even work up to a thousand reviews! Heck, I'd even like a hundred. My record was forty-two-  
  
I nearly slapped myself. Thinking about ff.net was not the best way to solve the riddles laid before me.   
  
The map pieces, of course, were the main plot of the story. My meeting with Cho, Draco and Neville were all subplots. Saturday would be the first Hogsmeade visit, and something would surely happen then. It was all coming together, just like a book.  
  
And yet, it wasn't like a book. It was REAL. It was completely and totally real, and it scared me.   
  
I suddenly thought of my parents. Did they know I was gone? What would they think if they knew where I was? Would they be proud of me if they knew what I was doing?  
  
Nah, they never liked fanfiction much.   
  
I headed up to the dorm, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.  
  
***  
  
And then I woke up in the middle of the night, and remembered that it WAS a book.  
  
***  
  
"Hermione!"   
  
She tried to ignore me, but I wouldn't be ignored. "Hermione!"  
  
My fellow Gryffindor finally turned around. "What?"  
  
"Where is the Ravenclaw Common Room?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "Why-" Then, "Never mind, on second thought I probably don't want to know. It's the next stairway after that ugly bronze statue of Danwill the Delicate, near the Charms class."  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
Lesse, Charms classroom was down the stairs to the right of the second suit of armor. I tried not to run, but I could barely help it, and my feet kept jumping ahead more quickly than I wanted and dragging the rest of me with it. My mind was already thirty steps ahead, however, and that was what kept forcing me into a sprint.   
  
I took the stairs down to Charms two at a time- ach! This wasn't the Charms hall! I looked around for a moment, wondering where I was. Then, I turned to look at the stairs behind me. Oh yeah, it was Friday. I almost forgot. I backtracked up the stairs, and turned left at the third suit of armor.   
  
The books don't make a big deal out of how annoying the stairs are. They didn't seem magical at first. There wasn't anything about them that seemed out of the ordinary. Then, you tried to get down to Charms class on a Friday, and suddenly the stairs lead in a different direction. A normal person loose in the castle would just think they had mistakenly taken the wrong path.   
  
After several false starts, (most of the stairs liked to switch on Fridays, and some of the doors moved around too,) I reached the steps to the Ravenclaw House.   
  
The Ravenclaw Room was guarded by a portrait of a weedy woman holding a enormous dog. It wasn't big, it was just very fat; rolls of fat spilled over the lady's toothpick legs.   
  
"Yes?" she asked me.  
  
"Um, I need to talk to one of the Ravenclaws," I explained politely. "Please?"  
  
She sniffed. "I'm sorry, but no."  
  
"Please?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"It's important."  
  
"Breach of protocol."  
  
I sat down in disgust. "I'm going to stay here until someone comes out, then."  
  
"Go right ahead." She sniffed again. "Crazy, addle-minded Gryffindors, always bossing us portraits around. You think you own the school."  
  
Her dog barked at me. She looked down at it, and immediately the strictness and cool aura faded away.  
  
"Aww, is Mommy's wipsey-tiddlums hungy? Do poopsey-squoodlums want a yum-yum? Ooh, Mommy tinks he do!" She hugged the poor beast tightly, and he gave me a helpless look.   
  
I listened to the "itsey-sqiddlies" talk for a while, but after about five minutes of hearing about how "Mommy" was going to give her "bitsey-pooomy" a "num-nummy," I was ready to give up. Fortunately, it was just about then that another Ravenclaw walked up the stairs, and spotted me.  
  
"Aren't you in Gryffindor?" was the first thing she said.  
  
"Yeah," I said, then quickly explained, "I need to speak to Cho Chang."  
  
She looked suspicious. "Oh really? And why do you so urgently need to talk to her?"  
  
"Please, just tell her it's Diana, and it's important."  
  
The Ravenclaw's mouth dropped open. "You're Diana?"  
  
I barely had time to nod before I was grabbed around the waist into the tightest hug I have ever had.   
  
"Oooooh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She squealed, her arms still tight around me.  
  
"Ah-ah-air!" I finally gasped out, and she let go, only to grab my hands and start jumping up and down.  
  
"I'm so glad to meet you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She hugged me again, not as tightly this time. Then, just as I started expecting the Twilight Zone music to play, "What in the world did you do for Cho?"  
  
"What's wrong wi- huh? Cho?"  
  
"Yes!" She shook her head, still grinning madly. "I have no idea what you said to her, but it worked! She's happy again!"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
She tilted her head at me, much as the dog in the portrait had done. "You didn't know?"  
  
"Um, no," I replied, still very confused.  
  
"She hasn't smiled ever since," she looked around, then stage-whispered, "since Cedric died. And we were all sooooo worried about her! She wouldn't talk to any of us, just stare at the Quidditch field and sigh, and then she goes out to the lake alone, and we're all suspecting the worst, and then she comes in and she smiles! Smiles!" She grabbed my hands and started jumping up and down again.  
  
"Oooooo-kay," I said, trying to discreetly edge away from the crazy Ravenclaw, "I will talk to Cho later, then, so…"  
  
"No! No, I'll go get her!" She shook her head in amazement. "What in the world did you tell her? She says that ever since talking to you, she… um, she…" She thought a moment. "She says that her outlook on life has changed, and she wants to be… what was it she said? A 'light character,' or something like that. I don't know. I'll go get her though. She's been so much happier!"   
  
She twirled around, nearly shouted "Dust mite!" to the portrait, and then danced into her Common Room. I tried to peer after her, but the portrait slammed shut. The woman was watching me with an indignant look. Probably thought I had disturbed her "tootsie-wigglers."  
  
The portrait swung back open a moment later, and Cho came out.   
  
"Your friend is insane," I informed her.  
  
She laughed knowingly. "That girl takes a bit of time to get used to." Then, "So, you needed to talk to me?"  
  
"I 'm thinking about the whole book thing, and I've figured something out." The portrait hole swung open again as I was talking, and several Ravenclaw boys exited, giving me strange looks. "Could we go talk somewhere private?"  
  
She thought a moment. "The Muggle Studies room isn't being used right now."  
  
She started to walk away, but I grabbed her shoulder. "How did you know that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you have the schedules of every class and classroom memorized?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
I dropped the subject.  
  
Cho knew her way around the castle a lot better than I did, and so I followed her step for step. I had already gotten caught more than once in a collapsing stair, and had doors catch my fingers as they slammed just a split-second after being opened, and I SWEAR that doorknob tried to bite me.  
  
"Here we are." She threw open the door to the empty classroom, and plopped down on one of the desks. "So, what's up?"  
  
"I've been thinking about the first four books."  
  
"The ones about Harry?"  
  
"Yeah." I started to pace. She watched me quietly. I think she knew that I thought best when I was explaining something to people. "I've been thinking about how maybe I'm in the fifth book. If I am, then I should be able to tell what's going to happen next, right?"  
  
"Not always," she said. "There are plot twists and things."  
  
"Yes, but…" I waved my hands for a minute, trying to come up with the right words. "There should be a pattern!"   
  
"Have you found a pattern?"  
  
"Yes, I found one." I took a deep breath. "I've been thinking really, really hard, and I realized that in each book, there are three new characters. A good guy, a bad guy, and one who can be either or neither."  
  
"Really." She nodded. "OK, tell me about the first book."  
  
"The first book was the first year Harry came to Hogwarts. Basically, we met three characters. Harry, first of all, he's the good guy, and then Voldemort, who's obviously the bad guy. Everybody else can kinda be lumped into the third person, because it IS the first book, and *everybody* is new."  
  
She nodded again.  
  
"The second book, we met Gilderoy Lockheart," she shuddered, "Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle."  
  
"Who?"  
  
I quickly recapped the whole "Chamber of Secrets" plotline.   
  
"A basilisk!" She jumped off of her seat. "Here in the school?" Her eyes flickered to the walls as if it might come crawling out at any time.   
  
"No, it's gone now. But see, Ginny was the good guy, Tom was the bad guy, and Lockheart was the either/or.   
"In the third book, there was Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew." I remembered something. "That's also the first book where your name is mentioned. You know Harry had a crush on you even back then?"  
  
"I kinda figured as much," she said, shaking her head. "Poor kid."   
  
I was going to keep talking, but I noticed something odd about her expression. "Are you OK?"  
  
"He asked me to the ball, but I was already going with Cedric. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings." She sighed. "He probably hates me now."  
  
"No, he doesn't, of course he doesn't!" She sniffed, then sat up, wiped her eyes, and nodded for me to keep talking. After a few seconds, I did. "Remus was the good guy," but she interrupted.   
  
"And Sirius was the bad guy… Who was the other one?"  
  
"Actually- Never mind."   
  
"What?"  
  
"That's something you may not want to know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, Sirius wasn't the bad guy."  
  
She froze. I could almost see her mind working back, remembering the events of two years ago. She started to count on her fingers, then shook her head. "Never mind. I'm not supposed to know. What about book four?"  
  
"Moody, Bagman and Crouch. Bad guy, either/or and good guy."   
  
"I'll just take your word for it."  
  
"But this year… There's still three new characters, but I can't for the life of me figure out who is what!"  
  
"And this is important?"  
  
"It's a key plot point, I'm sure."  
  
She bit her lip, thinking. "You… the Dark Arts Defense teacher… and… who else?"  
  
"Ibbonar."  
  
"Muggle Studies?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, let's see, you're the good guy…" Her eyes widened. "Does that mean one of the teachers is a bad guy?"  
  
"Maybe. That's what I'm worried about."  
  
"I doubt Hockanhack is a bad guy. He's too nerdy to be evil."  
  
"Ibbonar doesn't strike me as the "Evil Genius" type," I added. "He might be a good guy, though."  
  
"If he's the good guy, and Hockanhack is neutral, where does that leave you?"  
  
The clock chimed for class at that moment. "Oh no, I'm late!" Cho gave me a quick hug, then ran out the door. "Good luck figuring it out!"  
  
Luck was the last thing I needed. What I needed was an ounce of understanding.   
  
***  
  
Saturday morning. My third one since I arrived at Hogwarts.  
  
I watched Harry and Co. head out the common room door, no doubt on their way to Hogsmeade. I waited for Neville for quite a while, but when he still hadn't come down at nine thirty, I headed up to the boys' dorm.  
  
It was a messy place. Underneath it was exactly like the girls' dorm; then you added on the random piles of dirty laundry, books, homework assignments, posters, and other assorted things, most of which could also be found in my bedroom at any time. I hated cleaning, and yet seeing the mess in there was enough to make me want to get out the ol' garbage bags and rubber gloves.  
  
Neville was staring at some parchment, a worried look on his face.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
He jumped; absorbed in whatever he was reading, he hadn't seen or heard me come in.  
  
"Professor Trewlaney, our Divination teacher, gave us our horoscopes for the next few days…" Neville said, sounding worried.   
  
"Really?" I had never been interested in horoscopes much, but I knew enough about them to know that I was a Virgo, and that Virgos were usually extremely friendly and intelligent. I started humming a Weird Al song as I leaned over to see what mine was.  
  
Really, it was ridiculous. It could have been a page out of a teen magazine, with the little hearts underneath each sign telling you what your love factor was for the month, or telling you that your special days would be Oct. 26 and June 9. Horoscopes were so fake. Why anyone believed in them, I would never know. They were stupid, and useless, and that was that.  
  
"Lessee, Virgo: You will be of great assistance to a friend, and that friend will in turn share a secret with you. Your ruling planet, Mercury, is now in alignment with Mars, the planet of war. Avoid any controversial situations with your house elf; they may get deadly. Be nice to your greatest enemy, he will be very useful during your next encounter with a angry pixie mob." I sighed. "What a bunch of crap. Who would really believe this?"   
  
"Well, maybe you're right," Neville said, starting to turn to pile the horoscopes with the rest of the homework by his bed.  
  
"Hold on, I haven't read my lucky days yet." I grabbed the paper from him. "Today is going to be a lucky day." Yay!  
  
"Read mine!" Neville said, looking worried again. "It's awful."  
  
"What's your sign?"  
  
"Pisces," he said.   
  
"Ah, sensitive and yet tough," I remembered. "Not that I know much about horoscopes or anything," I added quickly. Scanned the list. Pisces, Pisces Pisces… "The relationship of the Sun to your love planet, Mercury, means that any social relationships should be put on hold indefinitely. Uranus' influence means that you will be in bad moods during the last three days of the month. Avoid trees during thunderstorms, and don't carry beef jerky with you during your trip involving animals. Gee, Neville, that's really… interesting."   
  
"Maybe we shouldn't go to Hogsmeade today then," he said.  
  
"Why not?"   
  
"Well, you know… We were going to the pet store together, and my horoscope says…"  
  
I was really puzzled. "What, that thing about beef jerky? Do you even like beef jerky?"  
  
He looked even more agitated. "No, but…"  
  
"What's the problem then?"  
  
He sighed, and stood up. "I guess there isn't one."  
  
He was actually a pretty nice kid. You know, most fanfiction makes him out to be a dork or something, but he's not. He just needs a little bit of confidence.  
  
It was only about half a mile walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. I have a feeling the distance was shortened magically, because the carriage ride from the station to the school took longer than it took us to walk the opposite direction. Lined with pine trees, the road was paved in some places and dusty in others.   
  
We talked in bits and pieces for a while, mostly polite stuff. "How's your family," "Got any pets?", "Weather's been nice," and other stuff like that.  
  
"What do you do during the summer, when school's out?" I asked him, as the buildings of Hogsmeade came into view. It looked quaint, like something out of living history. Brick and wood walls, no plastics or steel or anything. Dirt road that was paved with bricks in the nicer parts of town. A whole bunch of the buildings had chimneys, which was cool. I'd never seen a real chimney before in my life, unless it was on TV or something.  
  
"Mostly just read," Neville said. Then, he looked a little embarrassed. "Sometimes I write fanfiction, and sometimes I play chess with my grandmother."  
  
It took a minute for that sentence to register.   
  
"You… do… WHAT?"   



End file.
